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OF PREVIOUS EDITIONS 

These books are at the head of the Miscellaneous 
list in the “Annotated, graded, classified and priced 
list of books suitable for elementary school libraries” 
issued by the Education department of the State of 
New York, Feb. 15, 1912. 

( From the Bibliography of Education for 1894, James 1. 

Wyer, Jr. , now New York state librarian, in Edu- 
cational Review, June, 1905 ) 

“Fiction has never before been given place in this 
bibliography, but these stories are so manifestly the 
product of a rich experience and so full of sound 
sense, their abundant and obtrusive ‘morals’ are so 
salutary and their portrayal of certain educational 
shams and evils so vivid, that they certainly deserve 
serious reading by teachers and trustees.” 

{From the New York Sun) 

“The author has the gift of narration.” 

{From the Brooklyn Eagle, June 1 , 1912) 

“What Du Maurier did for the intimate life of 
the artist, Boucicault for the Irish rebel, Kipling 
for the British soldier, and Conally for the Glouces- 
ter fisherman, Bardeen is doing for the every-day 
life of the school.” 

{From the Pedagogical Seminary, G. Stanley Hall, Editor) 
“Mr. Bardeen is the story writer of American ed- 
ucation. He has already written three books of sto- 
ries of New York Schools, and here prints six short 
ones. To our mind this is by far his best book. 
His style is utterly unpretentious and sometimes 
homely, but there is a sense of reality about the in- 
cidents he portrays, and his writings embody the re- 
sults of so much keen observation of the character 
and psychic processes of teachers and everything is 
described as so real that the stories are most impres- 
sive. At the crisis when Paul Pembroke’s fortunes 
are changed for the better, when he protests before a 
large commencement audience against a fraudulent 
diploma, the victory of Sears over the Alpha Upsilon 
Society, and the triumph of Miss Trumbull are pro- 
foundly moving. In the story of the haunted 
school-room we have almost a contribution to hys- 
tero-neurosis, while in Miss Fothergill’s protest we 
have a character of a pushing but unscrupulous girl 
which we fear is too true to life.” 


COYKENDALL WEBB 


AND OTHER 


STORIES ABOUT SCHOOLS 



BY 

. BARDEEN 


ii 

Editor of the School Bulletin 





SYRACUSE, N. Y. 

C. W. BARDEEN. PUBLISHER 



Copyright, 1919, by C. W. Bardeen 




NOV 19 (919 


./ 


Recorded /j 

©CI.A535798 ^ 


d 






CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Coykendall Webb 9 

Agatha’s prayer 33 

Fair warning 49 

Made in Germany 79 

A recovery Ill 

Unconscious tuition 151 

The Trimble twins 181 

A superior woman. 


203 




COYKENDAEL WEBB 
















4 
















V 











♦ 


* 















- 














































































COYKENDALL WEBB 


Coy Webb and Mr. Kendall, both teach- 
ers in the Ipswich technical high, had 
identical names. Their twin fathers had 
married twins, and the double wedding 
had been followed by two years of happy 
intercourse. But it had been agreed that 
the first boy bom in either family should 
be named Coykendall for his maternal 
grandfather, and when indications arose 
in both families at about the same time 
there was rivalry, first joking, then serious, 
then intense, then bitter. When Coy ap- 
peared his uucle and aunt refused to attend 
the christening, even to see him; and when 
three weeks later a boy came to the other 
couple and was also named Coykendall 
( 9 ) 


10 


COYKENDALL WEBB 


a feud was established that outlived all 
four parents. They never visited, when 
they met they bowed coldly, they never 
spoke if they could help it to or of one 
another, each couple simply ignored the 
other’s existence. 

Each couple always addressed and spoke 
of their son by his full name, Coykendall. 
There were no pet names, no abbreviations. 
It was Coykendall who nursed at his 
mother’s bosom, Coykendall who was 
tucked away in bed, Coykendall who grew 
up . The two boys went to the same school , 
for it was part of the ignoring that neither 
should be prevented from anything because 
the other was to do it. Their playmates 
soon differentiated them, calling them so 
persistently Coy and Kendall that to all 
but their parents those were the recog- 
nized names. They went on to the same 


COYKENDALL WEBB 


11 


class in the same college where their fathers 
were graduated, still ignoring each other 
as each pair of parents ignored the other 
pair. All four of their parents died while 
the boys were in college, but no one of 
either family attended either funeral in 
the other. The parents left little pro- 
perty, but Grandfather Coykendall had 
provided for the boys’ education. When 
the four years were finished both had to 
earn a living, and both got places in the 
Ipswich school. 

II 

In many ways they were as identical as 
their names. They were of the same 
height and build, had voices that in another 
room could not be distinguished, had the 
same colored eyes and hair, abounded in 
little physical peculiarities of appearance 
and manner that distinguished either from 


12 


COYKENDALL WEBB 


anybody else. They even wrote almost 
an identical hand, having mastered in 
school the movement method of penman- 
ship and writing with rapidity and beauty. 

But every year they grew different in 
disposition. Coy was hale fellow well 
met, a good mixer, with an appealing 
smile that made friends at sight. Kendall 
was reserved, suspicious, distrustful, self- 
conscious. Coy was the most popular 
man in the class. Kendall had no inti- 
mates, and only such acquaintances as 
would not be kept at arm's length. Coy 
was always trim in attire and appearance. 
Kendall was careless and became slouchy. 
Coy kept his face clean-shaved. Kendall 
let a straggling beard cover his countenance 
like devil’s paintbrush. Coy was opti- 
mistic, hopeful, cheerful. Kendall looked 
for the worst and found it. So it was not 


COYKENDALL WEBB 


13 


strange that in the same school Coy was 
given a place near the top while Kendall 
had to do elementary work at two-thirds 
as much salary. 

Ill 

One July after school closed Kendall 
wandered off west, finally reaching Chicago. 
When he was ready to return he found 
every berth had been sold. As he turned 
away with his usual disgust a man three 
or four back in the line fell out and beck- 
oned him to one side. It was Coy, who 
offered his hand. “As it happens, Ken- 
dall,” he said, “I have an extra ticket. 
Ellis James was going with me, but is de- 
tained. If you will take his half the sec- 
tion it will accomodate me. I was just 
going to ask to give it up.” 

Tears came into Kendall’s eyes. “I 
would rather take a favor from you than 


14 


COYKENDALL WEBB 


from any other man in the world,” he said. 

“How foolish we have been all these 
years,” returned Coy, his own eyes not 
dry. 

IV 

They went to the car, and finding the 
smoking-room unoccupied sat there till 
long after the berths had been made up. 
In the twenty-six years they had been 
cousins they had never before spoken to 
each other except formally. Now the 
gates were loosened, and they made up for 
lost time. But it was Coy who did most 
of the talking, and tonight it seemed as if 
he told everything. He enjoyed jokes on 
himself and related his experiences with 
a frankness that made them irresistibly 
funny. What especially impressed Ken- 
dall was his kindliness — he seemed to have 
divined the best in everybody. 


COYKENDALL WEBB 


15 


By and by the special reason for his 
joyousness appeared. “Kendall,” he said, 
“I am going to tell you a secret that you 
will be the first third party to know; the 
night I came away from Ipswich Mortice 
Carlow promised to marry me.” 

Myrtice Carlow too. She was the one 
girl in all the world Kendall had hopelessly 
longed to marry, and now she had dropped 
easily enough into his cousin’s already full 
lap. Well, he never could have got her 
himself and he would be no dog in the 
manger, so he congratulated Coy with 
sincerity, and climbed into his berth won- 
dering why all the prizes fell in bunches. 
V 

When he awoke he was in a hospital, 
his head bandaged, a nurse watching him 
intently, her eyes lighting up as she saw 
he was conscious. It was explained to him 


16 


COYKENDALL WEBB 


little by little. The train at sixty miles 
an hour had run into a freight, and he was 
the only one in his car who had survived. 

“And Coy?” he started to inquire, but 
his habit of reticence prevailed. If all the 
others were dead Coy must be dead : why 
show his grief to a hired nurse? So he 
listened to all that was told him, but vol- 
unteered no information and answered 
questions cautiously. It was his story: 
he had no disposition to share it with Tom, 
Dick, and Harry. 

But a complication arose. He dis- 
covered that he was supposed to be Coy. 
Ellis James had telegraphed for news, and 
when reply came that Coykendall Webb 
was saved sent word to Ipswich that Coy 
was in the hospital. A letter came to him 
from the president of the Ipswich board 
telling that the chemistry department 


COYKENDALL WEBB 


17 


was now open and would be held for him 
till he could apply in person. It was 
addressed to Mr. Coykendall Webb but 
of course was meant for Coy. It showed 
an accustomed friendliness, and this man 
had always manifested dislike for Kendall. 
How Kendall would have liked that place. 
As a matter of fact he was in scholarship 
better fitted for it than Coy; his marks in 
college had been much higher. And it 
was work he would enjoy so much better 
than patching up these raw entering stu- 
dents in the fundamentals. But it was 
Coy’s personality they wanted,. No won- 
der: Coy was a fine fellow. He had so 
enjoyed Coy’s frank humor that fatal 
night. If he had been intimate with Coy 
all these years he might have picked up 
something of his manner instead of secret- 
ing a crust about himself. 


18 


COYKENDALL WEBB 


VI 

The first day he was allowed to wander 
down stairs he had a shock. As he turned 
to enter the reception room there was 
Coy coming to meet him. “Why, Coy!” 
he cried, with a joy he had never before 
known, and Coy stretched out his hand 
as eagerly. He touched the glass before 
he discovered that he had approached a 
full-length mirror. 

But how could he look so like Coy? 
He came back to the mirror. He had never 
been fond of his own face and had seldom 
seen it except for the hasty glance he gave 
when he parted his hair by three or four 
strokes of military brushes. He knew in 
a general way that in preparation for the 
operation on his face they had shaved his 
beard and had kept it shaved, but he had 
not had curiosity to see how it altered his 


COYKENDALL WEBB 


19 


appearance. He saw now that the smooth 
face and the trimmed hair made him look 
much more like Coy than like himself, 
especially as he wore a well-fitting coat 
of Coy’s that by some capricious miracle 
had been saved from the wreck. Poor 
old Coy: to think that even his wraith 
should have been preserved, with such an 
unworthy substitute to inhabit it. 

VII 

His reserve had kept him from saying 
anything of this; fortunately no one had 
observed his approaching the mirror or 
heard his cry of joy* But he reflected 
upon it a great deal, and the thought grad- 
ually took form. “Why not be Coy?” 
How differently he should go back to the 
old life at Ipswich with Coy’s friends and 
traditions instead of his own isolation 
behind him. It would be easy enough. 


20 


COYKENDALL WEBB 


Nobody knew he had gone to Chicago, 
much less that he was returning by this 
train. The Pullman records would show 
only Ellis James’s name, and Ellis was 
known to have staid behind. He was 
already recognized here as Coy, they would 
be looking for Coy at Ipswich, the two 
were so identical in appearance that he had 
mistaken himself for Coy, he would have 
Coy’s clothes, his voice was the same, any 
little differences would be accounted for 
as effects of the accident, the scar left on 
his face, distinct but not disfiguring, would 
prevent too close a study of his features — 
yes, physically he could take Coy’s place. 

But in mind and disposition? That was 
not so easy. Coy was quicker of percep- 
tion and expression and of readier humor; 
there would be a difference there, but 
people would attribute it to the shock. 


COYKENDALL WEBB 


21 


As to disposition? He felt as though he 
had seen a great light on the train. Coy 
expected everybody to be friendly and 
addressed everybody confidently. That 
was so much wiser than to hold back as 
he had done till the other person should 
unmistakably offer his hand. He would 
go back to Ipswich with Coy’s prestige 
and with Coy’s open hand. He would 
expect people to be glad to see him, and 
he would be glad to see them. 

VIII 

How about Myrtice Carlow? A little 
note had come addressed to Mr. Coykendall 
Webb. He knew it was from Myrtice 
and he had felt he had no right to open it. 
That from the member of the board was 
different; he had read that unhesitatingly. 
But Myrtice’s was a love letter; it was 
sacred. 


22 


COYKENDALL WEBB 


Yet Myrtice was involved in this as- 
sumption of Coy’s place. If he went back 
as Coy he must go back engaged to Myr- 
tice. Could he do it? A man might de- 
ceive the rest of the city, but would not 
the woman who loved recognize the im- 
postor? She might allow much for the 
accident, but could an identity deceive her? 

Then there was the general question, 
had he the right to take Coy’s place? It 
was not like taking it away; he would never 
have dreamed of that: he would give his 
right hand today to have Coy back in life. 
But Coy was gone. That brilliant young 
career was ended and would soon be for- 
gotten. If he could take it up and carry 
it on worthily, eliminating -his own un- 
happy individuality, was it not in a way 
a sacrifice for Coy, an obliteration of him- 
self to continue his cousin’s career? 


COYKENDALL WEBB 


23 


Eventually this conviction prevailed, 
and he opened Myrtice’s letter. It was 
brief. “My own,” it said, “you know 
what the joy was that I got the telegram 
of your safety before I knew of your dan- 
ger. O that I could come to you. How 
impatiently I wait for you.” Suppose 
he should go to her and say, “I am sorry, 
but it was Kendall who was saved. Coy 
was burned to death.” Who would have 
the courage to tell her that? He could 
not be to her all that Coy would have been, 
but how he would devote his life to her. 
IX 

So he went back as Coy, was welcomed 
as Coy, was appointed to the chemistry 
department as Coy, married Myrtice as 
Coy. People wondered what had become 
of Kendall, but only for a week or two. 
He had wandered west somewhere and had 


24 


COYKENDALL WEBB 


gone off on some wild-goose chase probably ; 
he was always queer. 

But Coy fitted in fairly well; not quite 
the same, but then think of the shock of 
such an awful accident. He tried to be 
friendly, frank, trustful, and grew in that 
direction. He was generally liked. 

At home there were anxious moments. 
Sometimes when he did not respond as 
expected he saw Myrtice’s eyes look puz- 
zled ; he knew he was not quite meeting her 
expectations. But he was a loyal husband, 
putting her happiness before anything 
else in the world ; if he did not feel the full 
union he had hoped for he was willing to 
wait for it, and was at least determined to 
deserve it. 

And it came. One night after supper 
she had curled herself up in his lap and 
whispered something in his ear. He looked 


COYKENDALL WEBB 


25 


at her with wondering joy and when he 
clasped her in his arms he knew she was 
wholly his. The triumph was exultation 
so tumultuous that when she was gone to 
bed he went out into the night to work 
off the excitement in a long walk. 

X 

It was pitch-dark, but as he passed 
under a street light a man confronted him 
and dropped the overcoat that concealed 
his face. “Good God!” cried Kendall, 
“Coy!” 

This time it was no mirror. There stood 
Coy, pale, worn, bitter, but Coy. Ken- 
dall’s first thought was for Myrtice. “Cov- 
er your face quickly,” he said, “and come 
with me to the schoolhouse.” 

Coy obeyed silently, and Kendall enter- 
ed by a private door that led to a labora- 
tory he often used at night. “Now tell 


26 


COYKENDALL WEBB 


me how it happened,” he cried. “They 
said I was the only survivor in the car.” 

“And you stole my name, my work, and 
my wife,” said Coy, bitterly. 

“No, I gave up my own name and iden- 
tity to preserve yours which would other- 
wise have disappeared, as I supposed 
I am ready to give them all back to you. 
Come with me tonight to New York, get 
a face specialist to carve this scar on your 
face, and come back to your place in my 
clothes. I promise never to be seen again. ’ ’ 
“And make Myrtice an unconscious 
adulteress,” sneered Coy, bitterly. 

“True. You must come back in my 
name and after I am dead. Listen, Coy. 
Not an hour ago Myrtice told me that she 
hopes to become a mother. Let that 
happen: there ought to be no excitement 
to disturb her. When she is recovered an 


COYKENDALL WEBB 


27 


accident will happen to me. Reappear 
here as Kendall, assume with your own 
happy personality the place I have filled 
so unworthily, but be known only by your 
full name. It is the only way out I see.” 

XI 

Kendall’s voice rang true. Coy held 
out his hand. “I really believe you are 
glad to see me alive,” he said. 

“As God is my judge, I am, Coy,” and 
Kendall sobbed. “All I want now is to 
atone to you and Myrtice.” 

“You have made Myrtice happy?’* 

“Not till she told me tonight of the new 
bond that united us have I felt that I was 
really accepted by her, but I have tried 
to be a good husband.” 

“Then you have been and are and shall 
be. I came here ready to kill you. I am 


28 


COYKENDALL WEBB 


going away proud of you, proud to have 
my name borne by you.” 

“You won’t go away?” 

“Yes. I wandered off from the train 
insane with pain, and when I was picked up 
I had aphasia. It was only last week that 
I discovered who I was. Nobody could 
trace me because Coykendall Webb was 
accounted for, and w T hen I recalled the 
past I came here before revealing it, not 
knowing what complications might have 
arisen. I am glad of that. Myrtice is 
happy. You will be happy, for I am not 
only willing but proud that you should 
continue to represent me.” 

“But stay with us, Coy.” 

“You will see that is impossible. Ken- 
dall Webb has vanished from this com- 
munity, and must bever be recalled^ Myr- 
tice must never have a hint that he has 


COYKENDALL WEBB 


29 


reappeared dr she may suspect something. 
I shall get on well enough, but you will 
never hear from me again.” 

“I can hardly grasp what you propose, 
Coy. It is nobler than I could have con- 
ceived. You left seven hundred dollars 
in the savings bank here. I have not 
touched it except to add a hundred and 
twenty-three dollars there was in your 
pocketbook, which was found and restored 
to me. At least let me send that to you.” 

“No, Kendall, keep that for the child. 
I want to disassociate myself entirely from 
Ipswich. God bless it, and Myrtice, and 
you.” 

And he went out into the night. 



Agatha’s prayer 












% 











































. 























































































* 









AGATHA’S PRAYER 


I 

“Well, how does it seem to you after a 
month?” asked Mr. Broughton, president 
of the board. He had taken a liking to 
this new principal, and addressed him 
familiarly. 

“I have never before been so dis- 
couraged,” replied Mr. Napier. 

“Discipline?” 

“Too easy: I wish the pupils were less 
docile.”* 

“Poor preparation?” 

“No, they recite creditably.” 

“Inattentive?” 

“No, they are rather eager in class than 
otherwise.” 


(33) 


34 


agatha’s prayer 


“What is the trouble?” 

“I haven’t formulated it yet: perhaps 
I can in talking with you. In a way it is 
that they are always consciously on dis- 
play intellectually.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“I don’t myself clearly. But when I 
am teaching a boy I want his mind to be 
on the topic, the fact, the method, the 
reason, whatever he is getting. Now here 
the boy’s mind is primarily on displaying 
how rapidly he can get it.” 

“That means close attention.” 

“But divided attention. I want his 
mind to be wholly on his work, not partly 
on how his work impresses me.” 

“Isn’t that a fine distinction?” 

“O no. You like good stories, don’t 
you?” 

“Yes.” 


agatha’s prayer 


35 


“Which kind of a listener do you prefer, 
the man who interrupts you before you are 
through to show that he has guessed the 
point, and who guffaws and shouts ‘That 
is a good one’, or the man who listens 
quietly with a twinkle in his eye?” 

“The latter, of course.” 

“Because he is absorbed in the story, 
while the other man is impressing you that 
he has humor enough to see the point.” 

“I think I catch your meaning.” 

“They once gave a play in Latin at Syra- 
cuse university. It was the Trinummus 
of Plautus, and copies of the play in the 
original with the translation were put in 
the hands of the audience. There are a 
good many jokes in it, and to show how 
perfectly he understood the Latin every- 
body laughed at every joke. When the 
joke was over the page the audience laugh- 


36 


agatha’s prayer 


ed before it turned the leaf and before 
the player had uttered it. Our boys and 
girls have been taught to do that: to be 
eager for the credit of understanding things 
even before they are said, with the nat- 
ural result that they often do not wait 
to understand at all.” 

‘‘In other words they lack sincerity.” 

‘‘That is exactly the word. What they 
want is not knowledge but the credit for 
knowledge.” 

II 

‘‘That is a serious matter. Have you 
found a cause?” 

“Yes.” 

“A person?” 

“Yes.” 

“Who is it?” 


“Mrs. Lushington.” 


agatha’s prayer 


37 


“You surprise me. We look on her as 
the light of the school.” 

“Yet this is just her fault. She is always 
making a window display of her acquire- 
ments.” 

“But they are considerable.” 

“On the contrary. She is too anxious 
to show off to take time to really acquire. 
She has smatterings of a great many 
things but only a smattering of any- 
thing.” 

“For instance.” 

“She poses as an art critic. She has 
walked through the National gallery and 
the Louvre and the Pitti and she thinks 
one might safely buy a Botticelli on her 
judgment. As a matter of fact she got 
her notes misplaced the other day, and 
gave her class in mediaeval history a long 
talk on what she supposed to be an early 


38 


AGATHA S PRAYER 


Raphael, but was really a modern German 
madonna.” 

“Are such instances frequent?” 

“I see them every day or two; they must 
occur almost hourly.” 

“And that spirit of veneer pervades 
the school?” 

“And will, so long as she is here.” 

Ill 

“What do you propose?” 

“To get rid of her.” 

“She has been here a long time.” 

“So the mischief she has done has pene- 
trated deep.” 

“And I don’t know whether she could 
get another place.” 

“It is the pupils we must consider.” 

“She has her contract for the year.” 

“If you will back me I think we can 


persuade her to resign.” 


AGATHA S PRAYER 


39 


“How?” 

“Though I have seen several instances 
of her parade of ignorance I have not 
mentioned them, because I consider her 
hopeless and it would only disturb without 
helping her. But the time will come 
when she will make an egregious blunder 
in the presence of so many people that 
to be exposed will humiliate her to the 
point of resigning and disappearing. If 
you approve I will undertake to discover 
such an opportunity before Christmas. ” 

“I’ll do it, Mr. Napier. It is ruthless, 
but we must consider the school first.” 

IV 

On the second Friday of October the 
school gave a reception to the teachers, 
the pupils, and the public. The board of 
education provided the refreshments. It 
had been an annual event for some years. 


40 


agatha’s prayer 


and gave Mrs. Lushington an opportunity 
to shine that she much appreciated. 

She made the feature of the evening 
a victrola recently purchased. She chose 
the records, and prefaced each with a 
description of the music and of its back- 
ground. 

“This,” she said of one of them, “is 
Agatha’s prayer, from Der Freischutz, 
one of the most touching melodies in all 
opera. Agatha is about to retire, little 
guessing that two robbers are hidden in 
her closet and watching her every move- 
ment.” She played it through, and added, 
“See how simply and joyfully she lifts 
her soul to heaven, and how touchingly 
the burden of her prayer rises in its re- 
ligious devotion . ’ ’ 

Mr. Napier’s eye met Mr. Broughton’s 
fully, and Mr. Broughton nodded. 


agatha’s prayer 


41 


“Mrs. Lushington,” asked Mr. Napier 
deferently, “are you familiar with the 
opera of Der Freischutz?” 

“O yes,” she replied readily, “I saw it 
once in Paris and once in Florence.” 

“Are you sure about the robbers and the 
prayer-scene? Aren’t you thinking of 
Fra Diavolo?” 

Mrs. Lushington was annoyed, but she 
inferred from Mr. Napier’s quiet posi- 
tiveness that he knew, so she replied, 
“Possibly you are right. I have heard so 
many operas in this country and in Europe 
that I sometimes get the plots mixed. 
It may have been Fra Diavolo. The two 
are very much alike.” 

“Are you sure of that? I should say 
they could hardly be more different. Fra 
Diavolo is by Auber, one of the lightest 
of French composers, hardly more than a 


42 


agatha’s prayer 


rather vulgar comic opera. Der Frei- 
schutz is the masterpiece of Weber, who 
founded the romantic school, and deals 
seriously with the supernatural.” 

Mrs. Lushington was visibly disturbed, 
but looking at the record she said, “No, 
it is Der Freischutz; I thought I was right.” 

“Yes, the record is unquestionably from 
Der Freischutz, but Agatha’s prayer was 
uttered under other circumstances. Agatha 
is left alone and draws the curtains aside, 
revealing a starlit night, and she prays 
for the safety of her lover.” 

“Very likely that is a more exact ren- 
dering of my general idea,” said Mrs. 
Lushington, anxious to pass on to another 
record. “You see how perfectly the music 
expresses that feeling.” 

“Unfortunately,” Mr. Napier insisted, 
“that is not Agatha’s prayer at all, but an 


agatha’s prayer 


43 


air preceding, sung by Annetta. While 
it is a prayer, it is a prayer for a young 
man, ‘Se si vede un giovinotto ' , 

“ ‘Comes a gallant youth towards me, 
Be he light or be he dark, 

Eyes that flash as he regards me, 

Him my captive I will mark.’ ” 
“Excuse me,” said Mrs. Lushington 
vindictively, “will you kindly examine 
this record, ‘Agatha’s prayer. By Marie 
A. Michaelowa, soprano. In Russian, 
61134 .’ ” 

“O yes, that is what the record says,. 
Mrs. Lushington, but the Victrola people 
have made five thousand records: it is not 
surprising that they should now and then 
paste the wrong label on a record. This 
is Agatha’s prayer.” And he sat down 
at the piano and played the well-known 
church tune. 


44 


agatha’s prayer 


“It does not seem to me at all likely that 
the Victrola people are mistaken,” pro- 
tested Mrs. Lushington angrily. 

“Let us look at one of their late cata- 
logues,” suggested Mr. Napier, and when 
it was produced he read, “Der Freischutz, 
Annie’s air, 61134”. “You see they were 
much more likely to make a mistake,” 
he said, “than the light and mischievous 
song of Annetta to represent a prayer. 

“To call that a prayer reminds me of 
an experience I had once in Boston in the 
old Music hall of the big organ. I was 
attending a symphony concert one after- 
noon, where the music was explained in 
detail in the elaborate programmes. It 
was a Russian symphony and at the mo- 
ment the music was gay with the tinkling 
of sleigh-bells after the wedding. As 
I glanced at the woman before me I saw 


agatha’s prayer 


45 


that she was in tears. How could it be, 
while the orchestra was tingling with 
happiness? Then I saw that by mistake 
she had turned over two leaves, and was 
reading where the newly-wed couple were 
cruelly separated.” 

V 

At this the audience could not restrain 
its laughter, and Mrs. Lushington indig- 
nantly withdrew. The next morning Mr. 
Broughton had a telegram from her saying 
that she had been called home by the 
illness of her mother. On Sunday this 
was followed by another saying her mother 
was so ill that she must resign altogether, 
and she never again set foot in the village. 

“It was severe,” remarked. Mr. Brough- 
ton, “but it brought safety to the school.” 



Fair warning 










































































































♦ 








t 



* 



♦ 
















w 




% 























































































































FAIR WARNING 


I 

Carltonville, N. Y., Sept. 26, 1913 
Samuel Appleton 
Ipswich, N. Y. 

Dear sir, 

I am sorry to say my first experience 
with your agency proves a frost. Miss 
Lauriston is wholly impossible. For in- 
stance, this afternoon she was required 
like all the teachers at the close of school 
to make out her report for the week. I 
waited fifteen minutes and it had not 
come. I dispatched one of the teachers 
for it and Miss Lauriston sent back word 
she would hand it in Monday. I went 
to her room and found her chatting with 
( 49 ) 


50 


FAIR WARNING 


one of her pupils. “I will wait here while 
you make your report,” I said. She dis- 
missed the girl, unwillingly, and filled out 
her blanks. It took ten minutes of my 
time to see that a simple regulation was 
complied with. I was tempted to dismiss 
her on the spot, but decided to keep her 
till the Christmas vacation. If she has 
not resigned by that time she will be pub- 
licly dropped. You need not bother to 
recommend anybody for her place. I 
should not under any circumstances take 
a second teacher from your agency. 

Yours truly, 

Oscar Zumpt 
II 

Carlton ville, N. Y. Sept. 27, 1915 
Dear Mr. Appleton, 

I do not feel that I can stay here. If 
it were not so necessary on account of my 


FAIR WARNING 


51 


mother to have my salary every week I 
would resign at once. As it is I must stay 
till you find me another place, but I hope 
that will be soon. They will be glad to 
release me here at any time. 

I thought at Appleboro that thereafter 
I could endure almost any kind of a prin- 
cipal if he had backbone enough to run 
the school, but I see there are other re- 
quirements. This school runs like clock- 
work; everything is done on the tick. But 
someway it is not team work: it is domi- 
neering work;. “ L } etat y c'est moi ,” Louis 
XIV said. In Mr. Zumpt’s eyes he is the 
school. There is never a discussion of 
what we want; it is always, “I want this”, 
and it has to be. Instead of cooperation 
there must be obedience, unreasoning, 
unhesitating. 

For instance, the only pupil in my grade 


52 


FAIR WARNING 


who has given me any trouble is Jessica 
Cole. She is older than the rest in the 
class because promotions are so rigid here; 
I think she has. been kept back because 
she did not pass in drawing. So in arith- 
metic and English and geography she is 
going over again what is already familiar 
and does not interest her. That gives 
her abundant spare time, and she employs 
it in meditating over her grudges, of which 
she has a large and varied assortment — 
against her former teacher for keeping her 
back, against her former class for glorying 
over outstripping her, against her present 
class for patronizing her as a leftover, and 
against the school generally for being 
prejudiced against her and giving her no 
fair show. Of course all this centres on me. 

To tell the truth I think there is a good 
deal of justice in her complaints ; she ought 


FAIR WARNING 


53 


to be in the grade ahead. And there are 
possibilities in her. She seems sullen, 
but that can be accounted for, and I am 
sure she will respond if I can get the right 
hold of her. I have avoided an issue 
because I have been studying her, and 
wanted to be sure of my ground when 
collision came. 

But yesterday afternoon just before 
closing the crisis arrived. She was not 
only disobedient but defiant, and had to 
be dealt with on the spot. I kept her after 
school, and I talked with her frankly. She 
was surprised to see how much I had dis- 
covered about her, how fairly I judged 
her, how sincerely I was her friend. I 
told her it was not a question of her obey- 
ing me as an individual; I should not ask 
that; I did not want it. What was re- 
quired of us both was to carry out our 


54 


FAIR WARNING 


parts in a big organization, where harmony 
and team work were indispensible. She 
began to believe and trust me; in five 
minutes my arm would have been around 
her, her head on my shoulder, her troubles 
poured out to me, and thereafter we should 
have been comrades. 

But just then down must come one of 
the other teachers with a peremptory de- 
mand for a silly weekly report that must 
me made out on Friday afternoons. I 
replied impatiently that I would hand it 
in Monday morning. I was willing to 
stay till after dark to make it out, but I 
couldn’t have Jessica Cole’s future im- 
perilled for a bit of routine like that. 

I resumed my talk with Jessica, and was 
getting back into her confidence when 
down came Mr. Zumpt swaggering into 
the room to say that he would remain. 


FAIR WARNING 


55 


with me till that report was made out. His 
manner was more offensive than his words, 
and I could see Jessica’s sarcastic smile. 
This was the team work, the cooperation 
I had been impressing upon her. I dis- 
missed her and shall try to pick up the 
threads again Monday, but the work is 
spoiled; I shall never have the hold upon 
her I could have got in another five minutes. 

Forgive me for writing so much in de- 
tail, but I want you to see why I cannot 
do good work here. In school a despotism 
is not the best government, even where 
the despot is capable. 

Yours sincerely, 

Edith Lauriston 
III 

Ipswich, N. Y., Sept. 30, 1913 
My dear Miss Lauriston, 

Most of the vacancies during the year 


56 


FAIR WARNING 


come at Christmas, so you had better 
not think of resigning before then. If 
it seems desirable at that time I shall have 
no difficulty in placing you, but don’t 
cross a bridge till you get to it. Lots of 
things may happen before Christmas. 
Do your work as well as though you ex- 
pected to stay twenty years. 

If you will pardon my saying so, the 
illustration you give reflects more upon 
you than on Mr. Zumpt. It is not for 
you to pronounce his weekly reports silly, 
and when he sent for it you should have 
made it out on the instant. Jessica Cole 
would have willingly waited the ten min- 
utes, and you would have shown her that 
you too were carrying out your part in a 
big organization where harmony and team 
work are indispensable. You felt and 
acted as though you thought it was obey- 


FAIR WARNING 


57 


ing Mr. Zumpt as an individual, and you 
put yourself wrong in Jessica’s eyes, as, 
I am sure, you are now in your own. 

This was a slip, but we all slip sometimes. 
On the whole you are a capable and de- 
sirable teacher, and I want Carltonville 
to consider you so when you go away, 
whether it is at Christmas, or a dozen 
years from now. 

Sincerely your friend, 

Samuel Appleton 
IV 

Carltonville, N. Y., Oct. 18, 1913 
My dear Brenda, 

After what I wrote you last time about 
Mr. Zumpt you will be surprised to learn 
that I have just protected him from a 
serious danger without his knowing any- 
thing about it. It is a long story, but 
rather interesting, I think. 


58 


FAIR WARNING 


The assistant teachers here are a lot of 
good women, not remarkably forceful; 
working for a living, not for a career; more 
interested in their pay than in their work, 
who would consider an advance of fifty 
dollars in salary the most gratifying evi- 
dence of success; glad to obey the principal 
blindly and put all the responsibility on 
him; but kindly, conscientious, trying to 
earn their money. 

There is one exception. Sophia Wrig- 
glesbe is the type of all I despise in woman. 
Where the others are obedient she is sub- 
servient, sneaky, ’umble like Uriah Heep. 
Why a man of Mr. Zujnpt’s intelligence 
shouldn’t see through her I don’t know, 
but he seems to like being kowtowed to 
and he gives her many special privileges. 
Naturally the more she gets the more she 
asks for, and I happened to be in his office 


FAIR WARNING 


59 


when she asked too much. It was before 
Columbus day, which came on Monday, 
and she begged Mr. Zumpt to let her go 
home Friday noon and not return till 
Tuesday morning. So far from consenting, 
he berated her for always wanting to es- 
cape her regular work. In fact, he said, 
that decided him not to have a holiday 
on Monday; the board had left it to him 
and there would be the regular work in 
the morning and some special exercises, 
in the afternoon. 

She did not reply but I saw her eyes as 
she turned away. They were like a cat’s 
when a dog is chasing her, phosphorescent 
and threatening: it was plain that if she 
found a way she would revenge herself 
on him. 

The next Friday afternoon I went into 
the library to look up some points in Eng- 


60 


FAIR WARNING 


lish history and was at work in Ijhe far- 
thest corner, behind the stacks. Miss 
Wrigglesbe came in and stood on the other 
side of the stack, not seeing me and evi- 
dently waiting for somebody. Soon in 
came Alasco Huggins, a big* overgrown 
boy whom Mr. Zumpt brought up before 
the school for lying last week, and gave 
him the severest verbal castigation I ever 
heard. So I could see there was some 
plot under way. 

As soon as he came in she asked in a 
whisper, “Is it all fixed?” and he replied, 
“Yes, the eleven big boys have promised, 
and if the little ones don’t come in we will 
skin ’em alive.” Then she asked, “Are 
you going to stay away?” “No,” he said, 
“we are going to go in and then march 
out.” She asked, “Aren’t you afraid he 
will stop you?” And he replied, “No, he 


FAIR WARNING 


61 


might stop one of us but he can’t stop 
eleven,” and they both laughed and went 
away. 

I knew there had been some feeling 
about not having Columbus day for a 
holiday, for the football nine was to have 
played Ipswich, and I could see how Miss 
Wrigglesbe had fanned the dissatisfaction 
into a mutiny; the boys were going to 
strike on Monday. What should I do? 
I didn’t want to go to Mr. Zumpt with 
the acknowledged dissension there is be- 
tween us. He wouldn’t want me to come 
to him or listen to me if I came. He would- 
n’t be afraid of a strike; he would think 
he could quell it in an instant. He doesn’t 
know what a feeling there happens to be 
just now in the community over the strike 
at the chair mill, where the men are still 
out and likely to win, and the village is 


62 


FAIR WARNING 


in sympathy with them. The pupils have 
talked it over a good deal, and repeated 
among themselves what they have heard 
at home. It is a bad time for the thought 
of a strike in school to come up. But Mr. 
Zumpt wouldn’t realize this; he thinks 
nothing can block his will. 

I wondered what I could do of myself 
to prevent the strike. 

The eleven big boys must of course 
include Alison Pierpont. He is the most 
influential boy member of the senior class. 
I have him in civics, and have found him 
decidedly interesting. He has his own 
views on almost every topic, and defends 
them well. He is usually in the wrong 
and when he is convinced he is converted, 
but it often tasks me to answer his argu- 
ments and we have become excellent 
friends. It occurred to me that if I could 


FAIR WARNING 


63 


see Alison alone I could win him over. 

He is on the ball team that on Saturday 
was to play Ashby on their grounds. He 
would come back on the 6:32, and as he 
lives to the south of the village would be 
likely to walk home at once and alone. 
I managed to meet him, and when he, 
polite boy that he is, turned to walk with 
me I insisted myself on turning and ac- 
companying him, telling him I was out 
for a walk. 

“Alison,” I began, “what is this I hear 
about a strike Monday?” 

“I don’t know what you have heard,” 
he said, “but there is going to be one.” 

“That would be a pity,” I said; “it 
disgraces a school so.” 

“It disgraces old Fuss and Feathers,” 
he replied, referring thus disrespectfully 


64 


FAIR WARNING 


to Mr. Zumpt, “and he deserves it for 
not giving us Columbus day.” 

“It disgraces me just as much as pre- 
ceptress,” I said; “more, for I teach the 
civics, and I am a failure if I have not im- 
pressed it upon my pupils that the first 
duty of pupils is to be obedient to con- 
stituted authority, as it will be when they 
are citizens.” 

“But we may get rid of old Fuss and 
Feathers, and have a more reasonable 
constituted authority.” 

“Please don’t speak of him that way,” 
I said. “You won’t begin to get rid of him. 
He is strong with the board and with the 
community, and he deserves to be for he 
keeps a good school. All you will accom- 
plish will be to have the strike chronicled 
all over the state as a disgrace to Carlton- 
ville.” 


FAIR WARNING 


65 


“He will have to give in.” 

“Not on your life. If the boys march 
out of school he has only to send the at- 
tendance officer after those under sixteen, 
and that takes all but two of you.” 

“But at least we make a protest.” 

“Against what?” 

“Keeping us in when the law says we are 
to have a holiday.” 

“The law does not say so. It is inter- 
preted by the Education department to 
require just what the board of education 
prescribed, school open as usual but special 
exercises.” 

“We had it for a holiday last year.” 

“There were special reasons then. As 
kept here this month it followed the com- 
mon rule throughout the state.” 

“Are you certain of that?” 

“We have argued enough over civics, 


66 


FAIR WARNING 


Alison, for you to be sure I never state 
a fact without making sure of it.” 

“I wish I had talked with you about this 
before, Miss Lauriston, but I have promis- 
ed the other boys to join them in the 
strike.” 

“Alison, you know that point in par- 
liamentary law that only one who has 
voted for a resolution can move its re- 
consideration. You are the one to per- 
suade the other boys to reconsider. Who 
was the first to propose it, Alasco Huggins ?” 

“I think he was the originator of the 
idea.” 

“Is Alasco Huggins the boy you want 
to follow?” 

“I don’t think much of him.” 

“And yet you let yourself be a catspaw 
to revenge him for a deserved punishment 


FAIR WARNING 


67 


ior accustomed lying. You show more 
acumen than that in the civics class.” 

“I believe you are right, Miss Lauris- 
ton. I think I can get the boys to change 
their minds, and I will do it.” 

There we parted, and I feel that the 
strike is averted. But is it not curious 
I should have done this for Mr. Zumpt? 

What a long letter, but I feel rather 
proud of what I have accomplished, and 
wanted to record the conversation before 
I forget it. 

Your friend, 

Edith Lauriston 
V 

Carltonville, N. Y., Oct. 18, 1913 
Dear Lydia, 

I am the maddest woman in New York. 
I had a scheme all worked out for getting 
square on old Zumpt for the way he talked 


68 


FAIR WARNING 


to me the other day. The eleven biggest 
boys were pledged to walk out of school 
Monday morning, and old Fuss and 
Feathers would have got an advertisement 
that wouldn’t raise his salary. But when 
they met Sunday evening to perfect their 
plans, one of them, a stuck-up senior named 
Alison Pierpont, backed out and persuaded 
the others to. Alasco Huggins told him 
he must have given in to Miss Lauriston, 
the new preceptress whom Mr. Zumpt is 
going to turn out at Christmas, and said 
Alison was tied to Miss Lauriston’ s apron 
strings. At that Alison struck him and gave 
him two black eyes, and hit him under the 
chin so hard that he dropped and didn’t 
come to right off. I wish he had killed 
him and was going to be hanged for it. 
Alasco couldn’t come to school Monday, 
and the strike was all off. I believe it is 


FAIR WARNING 


69 


true about Miss Lauriston, and I’ll bet 
you I get even with her before she leaves 
the school. 

Yours sincerely, 

Sophia Wrigglesbe 
VI 

Carltonville, Dec. 10, 1913 
My dear Eugene, 

Yes, we came through with a clean 
score. In the postponed game with Ips- 
wich I had the good luck to make the 
winning touch-down. I started from our 
thirty-yard line and three men got their 
hands on me but I managed to wiggle 
through. What an exultant feeling it is 
when you actually get clear of the other 
team and have a straight run to the cross- 
bar. 

By the way, I told you how we planned 
a strike after old Fuss and Feathers took 


70 


FAIR WARNING 


away Columbus day, and how Miss Lauri- 
ston persuaded us to refrain for the honor 
of the school. There is another tail to 
that kite. 

As you know, my mother is a niece by 
marriage of Judge Fellows, and he has 
always taken a fancy to me. People think 
he is awfully cross and severe, but to me 
he has always been almost chummy, talk- 
ing with me on a level, and giving me a 
lot of good points. Last Saturday he 
stopped over here and after lunch he took 
me to walk. 

“Alison,” he asked, “what do you con- 
sider the prime requisite to success in 
life?” 

“Integrity, I suppose,” I replied. 

“In your case we may assume that,” 
he said, looking at me in the way it makes 
me feel I must live up to what he expects 


FAIR WARNING 


71 


of me, “and energy, and education. But 
beyond these?” 

“I hardly know what to name.” 

“I can tell you: good judgment, so that 
when you pronounce an opinion it will 
carry weight. Most men go off at half- 
cock; they fire before they are loaded; 
they give hasty impressions for convic- 
tions. It is the man who thinks before he 
speaks and makes sure before he asserts 
and is found afterwards to have been right 
that will be looked up to apd followed.” 

“You seem to be describing yourself, 
Uncle Frank.” 

“Since I have been on the bench it has 
beep my profession to be that kind of a 
man, but I am still too liable to prejudice 
and hasty conclusions. I want you to 
escape my errors.” 


72 


FAIR WARNING 


“Have you some blunder of mine in 
view, Uncle Frank?” 

“Yes, I have, Alison. When your aunt 
told you the other day that our precep- 
tress at Winchendon was at the head of 
the eligible list in New York City and 
likely to be called there at any time, you 
told her we couldn’t find anywhere a woman 
equal to your Miss Lauriston here.” 

“I stand by that as if it were the only 
judgment I ever uttered.” 

“I was impressed by the way you put 
it and I wrote to your principal here to 
see if he confirmed you. Now see what 
he says.” 

He handed me a letter which read as 
follows: 

Carlton ville, Dec. 3, 1913 

Dear sir, answering your letter as to 
Miss Lauriston I would say that we should 


FAIR WARNING 


73 


be glad to have you give her a contract, 
as we are to dismiss her at Christmas 
and if she had another place it might save 
legal complications, but truth compels 
me to say that while her classroom work 
is fair to medium she is wholly without 
executive ability, has no recognition of 
system, and is by no means loyal. There- 
fore I could not recommend her for pre- 
ceptress of a school. 

“Yours truly, 

“Alphonzo Zumpt” 

“Isn’t that just like old Fuss and 
Feathers?” I exclaimed indignantly. 

“It is the man’s judgment as compared 
with an enthusiastic boy’s,” replied the 
Judge. 

“Uncle Frank, let me tell you some- 
thing,” I said; and I explained how Miss 
Lauriston had prevented the strike. 


74 


FAIR WARNING 


“And Mr. Zumpt doesn’t know this?” 
Uncle Frank asked. 

“He hasn’t an idea that the strike was 
ever contemplated.” 

“And nobody knows why you changed 
your mind?” 

’’Miss Lauriston made me promise never 
to mention her part in it.” 

“Alison, I am proud of you from every 
viewpoint,” he said. “Suppose we call 
on Miss Lauriston. The vacancy now 
exists and I believe she is the woman we 
want.” 

So we found Miss Lauriston and Uncle 
Frank was so pleased with her that he 
engaged her on the spot at a thousand 
dollars a year. Wasn’t it lucky it turned 
out that way? 

Your fast friend, 

Alison Pierpont 


FAIR WARNING 


75 


VII 

“Carl ton ville, Dec. 15, 1917 

'‘Dear sir, 

We have got rid of Miss Lauriston, thank 
heaven, but I have decided to promote 
Miss Wrigglesbe to her place; she is not 
all that could be desired, but at least she 
is obedient and loyal. Miss Lauriston 
goes to Winchendon. They can’t blame 
me there: I gave Judge Fellows fair warn* 
ing. 

Yours truly, 

Alphonzo Zumpt 





























































































































































































































/ 

















Made in Germany 



MADE IN GERMANY 


When Reuel Wharton’s wife died the 
light went out of his life. They had been 
comrades from childhood, were graduated 
from high school in the same class, went 
to Yale and to Smith the same year, and 
married as soon as their courses were fin- 
ished. They taught together, played 
together, thought together, grew together, 
till each was as sure of the other as of an 
arm. When in his absence from their 
summer camp she ventured out alone in 
their canoe and was drowned, his impulse 
was to follow her into the water and lie 
at the bottom of the lake clasping her in 
his arms. “He will never look at another 
woman,” said his younger friends. “He 
(79) 


80 


MADE IN GERMANY 


will marry within a year,” said older ones: 
“it is the highest tribute he can pay her.” 
II 

The summer vacation had just begun, 
and for distraction he went to Europe. 
He was in Luzerne on that August Sunday 
when news came that war was declared 
and it was manifest that Americans could 
not get home too soon. He was alone, 
with only a handbag, able to help some 
one who needed a protecting arm, and he 
looked about to see where his services were 
most needed. He found an American 
girl named Leslie almost distracted. Her 
father, consul in a small German city, 
had recently died, leaving her, already 
motherless from childhood, barely funds 
enough to reach America, where she hoped 
to find a living as a teacher. She had 
bought passage to New Y ork by a Hamburg 


MADE IN GERMANY 


81 


steamer, and had taken a rund-reise ticket 
through Munich and Italy to see the great 
picture galleries. Had there been nothing 
unexpected she would barely have had 
money enough left to finish her voyage. 
As it was her tickets to Hamburg and to 
New York were useless, the little money 
she had was Italian and refused, and it 
was doubtful if she could pay for her bed 
and breakfast. 

Mr. Wharton provided everything, got 
her baggage through, found a seat for her 
in compartments already more than full, 
and a berth in a steamer from Havre that 
had ceased booking passengers a week 
before. 

But he was only officially her compan- 
ion. His heart was closed to women, 
and while he was kind and thoughtful he 
was not social or inquisitive. He was 
helping a human being, not her. 


82 


MADE IN GERMANY 


III 

When the pilot came on board the mail 
contained a letter for him saying that the 
woman engaged to fill his wife’s place 
was on the eligible list in New York City 
and had received her appointment. They 
could not refuse to release her and asked 
him to stop over in New York long enough 
to engage some one for the vacancy. Mr. 
Wharton wondered if Miss Leslie could 
fill the place. He had picked up from what 
she had said that her father had kept her 
in a German boarding school of high class, 
where for eight years she had spoken only 
German, which was if anything readier 
to her than English. Her accent was 
Hannoverian, her manners were those of 
well bred German women, her habits of 
thought and speech were German, she 
would unquestionably make a superior 


MADE IN GERMANY 


83 


German teacher. The classes were now 
in the hands of Miss Henley, a woman 
who had spent six months in Berlin, but 
to whom German was something put on 
like an outside garment ; who never uttered 
a German sentence without first visualizing 
it in print as a translation. Miss Henley 
would much prefer the Latin and history 
which his wife had taught, and would 
teach them much better than German. 
By transferring these classes to her he 
could give the German to Miss Leslie, 
and with it some work in fine arts and in 
modern history, in which his brief con- 
versations with her led him to believe 
her well grounded. 

He utilized the long delay on the pier 
while their baggage was being examined 
to question her, decided that she would 
do, and offered her the place at seven 


84 


MADE IN GERMANY 


hundred dollars a year, to her a miracu- 
lous salary. He had found her in the 
depths of despair, absolutely helpless and 
hopeless; he had taken entire care of her, 
protected her, saved her, and given her a 
place she had never dreamed of. She 
could afford to be grateful, and she was. 

IV 

If anyone had been inclined to suspect 
sentimentality in thus rescuing a pretty 
woman found abroad, one had only to see 
them together to be undeceived. Mr. 
Wharton’s relation to her was wholly 
impersonal. He explained her work, gave 
her some idea of the running of the school 
and her relation to it, and left her to her- 
self, the more entirely because she seemed 
to adjust herself readily. She proved a 
successful teacher, getting hold of her 
pupils from the first. Miss Henley had 


MADE IN GERMANY 


85 


nominally used the conversational method, 
but the sentences were those of Ollendorf. 
Miss Leslie soon got her pupils to express- 
ing their thoughts directly in German 
without translation, and with those of 
the upper classes she spoke German en- 
tirely in school and out, about everything 
else as well as the class work. She aimed 
more at facility than at felicity, but the 
latter came too, and visitors who knew the 
language were surprised at the proficiency 
shown. Her classes became the most 
popular in school, the talk of the county. 

V 

Mrs. Wharton had been her husband’s 
school secretary, at first incidentally, then 
formally, with two periods a day devoted 
to that work. When Mr. Wharton came 
back he told the board he preferred to do 
his own clerical work, hoping to fill in the 


86 


MADE IN GERMANY 


time with drudgery in itself distasteful to 
him but that occupied his thoughts and 
kept them from dwelling too constantly 
on his bereavement. 

Little by little, almost imperceptibly. 
Miss Leslie insinuated herself into this 
work. She had been well trained in her 
German school, and her own reports were 
models of neatness and clearness. Mr. 
Wharton allowed her to reduce the reports 
of the other teachers to her own forms, 
to summarize them, and eventually to do 
other book-keeping, till before he realized 
it she was performing many of the du- 
ties for which his wife had been given 
special time. When he became conscious 
of this, and that she liked to do it, he ar- 
ranged to substitute office work for two 
of her study-hall periods. 


MADE IN GERMANY 


87 


VI 

The first time she came to his office 
for this purpose he closed the door, as 
had been his custom with his wife. 

“Would you mind if we left the door 
open, Mr. Wharton?” she asked. 

He reddened like a schoolboy, and was 
vexed beyond expression to be given a 
lesson in manners by a girl he should 
have protected. But she could see that 
it called his attention for the first time 
to the fact that she was not an article of 
furniture or a machine but a young woman, 
a charming one at that, whom one might 
want to caress if he grew fond of her. It 
was a wholly new point of view, and she 
frequently became aware that he was ob- 
serving her with awakened eyes. She 
was worth looking at. She had perfect 
health, a roseate complexion, piquant 


88 


MADE IN GERMANY 


features, an illuminating smile, a quiet 
but happy way of expressing herself. She 
was one of the rare women who can wear 
white and keep it white, and she showed 
little niceties of attire that made her al- 
ways look a little different from yesterday. 

Presently he began to converse with 
her on subjects not connected with the 
school, and he found response to his best 
thoughts. His wife had liked to hear him 
read Shakspere and Browning as she liked 
to have him do anything, but he could not 
imagine her sitting down to read either 
alone. Miss Leslie knew the inner mean- 
ing of Browning’s Statue and the bust, 
and could give the apposite quotation 
from a dozen plays of Shakspere. In 
music and in art her proficiency was far 
beyond his, while their tastes were similar. 
She had profited by that last month in 


MADE IN GERMANY 


89 


Italy and he delighted to talk over the 
great pictures with her. The school vic- 
trola played for them the masterpieces of 
opera and symphony and the same passages 
appealed especially to both. In short the 
inconceivable came to pass: he was in 
love with a second woman. 

VII 

Needless to say she knew it, and when 
he spoke of it she was ready to answer. 
There were reasons enough why she should 
marry him. She owed him everything, 
she liked him, he was a desirable husband, 
he would devote his life to her and give 
her the sort of career that appealed to her. 
So when he asked her to become his wife 
she leaned her head upon his shoulder and 
was passive in his embrace. “The French- 
man was right,” she said to herself; “love 
is where one loves and the other lets her- 
self be loved.” 


90 


MADE IN GERMANY 


They were married at the end of the 
second June, took the tour of the Great 
lakes to Chicago, and spent August in 
New York, where Mr. Wharton studied 
administrative work in Columbia, while 
his wife made herself acquainted with the 
pictures in the Metropolitan art gallery. 

VIII 

She was seated one day before the Joan 
of Arc, wondering if that really was the 
warlike maiden, when she was kissed vio- 
lently on both cheeks. Springing to her 
feet in anger she saw before her with out- 
stretched arms Katrinka von Armstein. 
her roommate at the boarding school, 
In an instant the years rolled away and she 
was once more among her warm-hearted 
German schoolfellows. 

“Where did you drop from?” she cried, 
her eyes brimming with tears of joy. 


MADE IN GERMANY 


91 


“I am just arrived with my husband,” 
replied Katrinka. ’“Come to lunch with 
me and meet him.” 

“I am married too,” said Faith, “but 
my husband is off on an expedition today. 
You must dine with us tomorrow.” 

Katrinka took her to a family hotel 
where meals were served in their rooms 
from a restaurant. She introduced her 
husband, a dapper little officer, and the 
talk was all of Germany and her old friends 
there. Even the dishes were those of the 
boarding school and at the end of two 
hours Faith had almost forgotten that she 
had crossed the ocean. 

“I am happier than I have been since 
I came away,” she said, and she looked 
it. “Now you must dine with us to-mor- 
row and meet my husband.” 


92 


MADE IN GERMANY 


IX 

Captain von Baruch looked embarrassed. 
“The fact is,” he explained, “I am afraid 
I can not have the pleasure of knowing 
your husband. I am here on a secret 
mission. My presence would not be re- 
vealed to you except that you and Katrinka 
are such old and fast friends, and I must 
rely on you not to mention me to any one, 
even to your husband.” 

“No,” echoed Katrinka, “it is a joy to 
see you and we must meet every day, 
but your husband must not know it. We 
will make appointments each day for the 
next, and you can manage so that he will 
not discover them.” 

Faith looked troubled. “I am not sure 
I ought to have secrets from my husband,” 
she said. 

The Captain and his wife laughed mer- 


MADE IN GERMANY 


93 


rily. “He is only an American pig,” 
declared the captain; “what do you care 
for him?” 

Faith’s eyes flashed. “He is an Ameri- 
can,” she said, “but he is as much a noble- 
man as if he wore a title.” 

“Very likely, for an American,” replied 
Katrinka soothingly, “but how unfortu- 
nate that you had to marry here. If your 
father had left even a hundred thousand 
marks of life insurance you could have 
had your pick of a dozen German lieu- 
tenants, and remained one of us.” 

“But you know I am an American 
myself,” protested Faith. 

“Only by birth. You remember the 
Irishman’s question, ‘If a cat has kittens 
in an oven does that make them loaves 
of bread?’ You were born in America, 
but you were made in Germany. 


94 


MADE IN GERMANY 


X 

“How do you get on with your husband 
about the war?” the captain continued. 

“At first we used to argue, and he lis- 
tened seriously to all I could say of Ger- 
many’s need for markets and England’s 
greed, but when the Lusitania was sunk 
he turned so bitterly against Germany 
that if I had spoken for her it would have 
changed his opinion not of Germany but 
of me.” 

“So you had to agree with him or lose 
the chance of a husband?” suggested Ka- 
trinka. 

“It amounted to that.” 

The captain and his wife looked at each 
other, and the captain took from his pocket 
a medal and handed it to Faith. “That 
is what we think of the Lusitania,” he said. 
It was a commemoration of the sinking. 


MADE IN GERMANY 


95 


“How can you rejoice over the murder 
of women and children?” asked Faith in- 
dignantly. 

“It was an American general who said 
war is hell, and when there is war the one 
thing is to win. England rules the seas. 
We can defeat her only by submarines, 
and they are a necessity of war. 

XI 

“Of course you are with us in this war?” 

“As against the English, yes,” she re- 
plied. 

“As against the English? As against 
the world: we are the world nation,” de- 
clared the captain proudly. “You must 
be with us against everybody, even against 
America, if she comes in against us.” 

“You could not expect me to go on op- 
posite side to my husband?” 

“Bah! Listen, Faith. America is com- 


96 


MADE IN GERMANY 


ing into the war. If she does not come 
of herself we shall drive her in. We have 
got to have her in. We shall win in 
Europe but there is nobody to collect from. 
England, France, Italy all will be bank- 
rupt. The money is here and we are 
coming here for it. And we shall win 
out; you know that. It is evident from 
what you say that your husband is a leader, 
among teachers and in the community. 
If he is bitter against us he will be a con- 
spicuous enemy, to be punished conspic- 
uously. Now when we have conquered 
America where will your husband be? 
His only safety will be through you as 
our friend. Help us, and we will see to it 
when the reckoning comes that he escapes 
through the services you have rendered 

i) 


US. 


MADE IN GERMANY 


97 


XII 

‘’What services can I render?” 

“You are going to continue teaching?” 

“For the present, yes.” 

“You can render us inestimable service. 
This is going to be a long war. The boys 
in your upper classes will be men before 
peace comes, and it will be partly with 
them that we shall treat. Every pupil 
that you imbue with Germany’s point of 
view will be an ally for us, when allies 
count.” 

“But if I should talk for Germany I 
should be dismissed.” 

“You don’t have to talk for Germany; 
we don’t want you to. Talk against 
Germany in words, but insinuate. Es- 
pecially be pessimistic. Hope the allies 
will win, but be fearful about it, dwell on 
German successes, point out what an ad- 


98 


MADE IN GERMANY 


vantage it is to have a single undisputed 
head like the Kaiser instead of divided 
councils like the allies, admit that it some- 
times seems as if God were with the Cen- 
tral powers.” 

“I might do that.” * 

“You can do it in a thousand ways 
without an intimation that your sympa- 
thies are with us. Then you say you 
converse with some of your students in 
German?” 

“Yes, with most of the older ones.” 

“You can be more open with them. 
They are proud of their proficiency in the 
language, and you can inspire German 
ideals and habits of thought without be- 
traying yourself ; they will be vain of think- 
ing like Germans as well as talking like 
them.” 


“I can see possibilities there.” 


MADE IN GERMANY 


99 


“Then you teach the modern history?” 

“Yes.” 

“That is a great opportunity. Deplore, 
as you are bound to, the enormous progress 
of Prussia but exaggerate it and make it 
seem inevitable. You can make your 
pupils afraid to set themselves against 
her.” 

“I think I can influence them that way.” 

XIII 

“But you can do more than this: you can 
become a direct agent of the Kaiser.” 

“How is that possible?” 

”Now I must open myself to you, Faith. 
My mission in America is to establish 
correspondents in every part of the coun- 
try. We want to know what is going on 
behind the curtain in various communi- 
ties. As it becomes more and more cer- 
tain that this country will enter the war 


100 


MADE IN GERMANY 


there will be committees, associations, 
leagues formed for protection of American 
interests. Your husband as a prominent 
man will be a member of these organiza- 
tions and will tell you all about them. 
We want you to keep us informed. We 
want a letter every week, and as agent 
of the Kaiser you will be paid a regular 
salary, a thousand marks a year.” 

“Why, captain, I could not take money 
for betraying my husband.” 

“You are earning it to protect your hus- 
band. By being on our payroll your 
agency is recognized and your influence 
will save your husband when without it 
he might be shot. We have such secret 
agents all over the land, professors in 
colleges among them. It is a service to 
the fatherland that ranks among the high- 
est and will be the highest rewarded when 
the final settlement comes.” 


MADE IN GERMANY 


101 


“You astonish me beyond words. I 
shall have to think it over.” 

XIV 

In September of the year following Mr. 
Wharton was enjoying a Saturday morn- 
ing at home. He had lots of work he 
wanted to clear up, notes to assort and 
pigeonhole, letters to answer, two or three 
new books to look over, and he was an- 
noyed to be interrupted by a call. The 
stranger introduced himself as a govern- 
ment detective, and inquired how the 
village was rising to the preparedness 
problem. 

“I am disappointed,” replied Mr. Whar- 
ton. “We seem to have made every effort 
but we are not getting the results we had 
looked for. There are fewer enlistments, 
fewer subscriptions to the Red Cross and 
the Liberty bonds than in neighboring 


102 


MADE IN GERMANY 


villages. My school ought to have more 
stars on its service flag than any other 
in the county, but it is way behind. Some 
way what I £ay does not meet with re- 
sponse.” 

“Do any of your teachers feel luke- 
warm?” 

“I don’t think so. They are always 
ready to second any effort I make.” 

XV 

“Your wife was brought up in Germany, 
wasn’t she?” 

Mr. Wharton flushed and spoke with 
some heat. “Yes, but she is my wife 
end I may be presumed to know her at- 
titude.” 

“Yet it is about your wife I called to 
see you. Here is a letter that your wife 
mailed at half-past ten last night.” 

“And may I ask how you came to open 
it?” 


MADE IN GERMANY 


103 


“If you will read it 'the question will 
be unnecessary.” 

“But it is addressed to Miss Iona Bost- 
wick. My wife has no acquaintance of 
that name.” 

“There is no such woman. Your wife 
has sent forty letters within a year to 
forty different addresses, all of them ficti- 
tious. Every one of the letters was re- 
ceived by a former schoolmate of hers, 
the wife of Captain von Baruch, arrested 
yesterday with him and now in custody 
for conspiracy. It was through letters 
found in their possession that we learned 
of yotlr wife’s correspondence and inter- 
cepted this letter.” 

“I will call my wife,” said Mr. Wharton. 

The detective had been moving about 
the room and at this he suddenly pulled 
a door that opened inwardly and Mrs. 


104 


MADE IN GERMANY 


Wharton fell to the floor: she had been 
listening at the keyhole. “It won’t be 
necessary to call her,” remarked the de- 
tective grimly. “Now suppose you read 
the letter.” 

XVI 

Translated it read as follows: 

“My dear Iona, we are having busy 
times these days. Conscription arouses 
lots of opposition. As chairman of the 
examining board my husband has made 
enemies by the score. Most men are 
cowards and they resort to all sorts of 
subterfuges to be rejected. He has de- 
tected a good many of their tricks but he 
says he has undoubtedly been deceived 
in many others. He is depressed at the 
physical unfitness of the men : even if they 
get to camp a great many of them will be 
invalided, and will simply cost the country 
thousands of dollars for nothing. 


MADE IN GERMANY 


105 


“Three or four of the largest boys in 
school are Irish, and somehow or other 
they are impressed that this is a good time 
to escape the domination of England. 
They talk of it at home and there has 
arisen quite a feeling against being forced 
to fight for their oppressor. A secret 
meeting has been called for next week and 
I should not be surprised if there were 
results. 

“General Rodiger spent last night with 
us. He wanted to consult my husband 
about the disposition of the Red Cross 
war chest here, of which my husband 
is the chief director. He said his regiment 
was to sail for Bordeaux next Saturday 
by the Rochambeau, a dead secret as the 
steamer hopes to escape the submarines, 
but he confided it to my husband and asked 
that part of our contribution be entrusted 


106 


MADE IN GERMANY 


to him. When he and my husband went 
to a rally at the town hall I looked over 
his papers, but found nothing of interest. 

Yours ever, 

Franza Kempelin 
XVII 

“You wrote this?” asked Mr. Wharton 
of his shivering wife. 

“Yes,” she whispered. 

As he looked back he remembered that 
just then the predominant thought in 
his mind was wonder that so lately as 
this morning he had thought he loved 
that woman. Now he loathed her. He 
abhorred deceit. Her life was one long 
lie. For the first time the import of her 
maiden name revealed itself, Faith Leslie. 
She had changed her name but not her 
nature, she had lived faithlessly. She 
had been not only treacherous but a trai- 
tor, a paid spy. 


MADE IN GERMANY 


107 


“I hope there are laws that will punish 
this woman,” he said to the detective. 

“There are laws that will keep her in- 
terned till the war is over,” the detective 
said. And he led her away. 




A RECOVERY 































































































































































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A RECOVERY 


I 

“What a delightful woman your wife 
is” remarked Dr. Bronson, looking ad- 
miringly as she went upstairs after bidding 
them good night. 

“She is a growing delight. She is win- 
some to everybody, but to me she is a never- 
failing storehouse of surprises of affection 
and service. She spoils me, but it reacts. 
I am naturally selfish but she makes it a 
joy to do for her.” 

“I admire the fond irony you two use 
so freely. You look each other soberly 
in the eye and accuse each other of greed 
and neglect in a way to deceive even the 
elect. Doesn’t it puzzle strangers?” 

(ill) 


112 


A RECOVERY 


“Often, especially waiters at hotels. 
Once at the Navarre the man brought 
oat-meal enough for a family. ‘Is there 
more than you want ?’ I asked. She meas- 
ured it with her eye and replied reflec- 
tively, ‘No, I think not’; and the waiter 
took away my saucer.” 

“I don’t know a greater proof of mutual 
confidence than to be able to say the op- 
posite of what you mean without the pos- 
sibility of being misunderstood.” 

“Mildred and I never contemplate mis- 
understanding. I am so sure she will 
always consider me first that I have to 
plot to make what I think she wants seem 
to be what I want.” 

“I can understand that. When anybody 
doubts if there can be happiness in mar- 
riage where there is disparity in years, I 
say, ‘Look at the Knights’.” 


A RECOVERY 


113 


“I was double her age, forty-two to 
twenty-one. I hesitated over it a long 
while. Finally I put the case before her. 
She leaned her head on my shoulder, and 
the subject has never been mentioned 
since.” 

‘‘What a blessing it is to be happily 
married.” 

‘‘So great that I can hardly conceive of 
real happiness without it. She is always 
on hand to enjoy with me, to understand, 
appreciate, sympathize. Her sense of 
humor is fully as keen, and she remembers 
jokes, so that the least hint recalls them. 
She is always either humming or smiling, 
so that when I come home tired all my 
troubles disappear and I relax in comfort.” 

‘‘You are indeed blessed, Mr. Knight, 
more blessed than you realize.” 

The good doctor sighed as he said good- 


114 


A RECOVERY 


night. Mrs. Bronson’s reputation as a 
wife was somewhat different. 

II 

As Cuthbert Knight sat reflecting over 
their conversation the realization came to 
him that he had lied. All that he had 
described had been true, and it was not 
till he depicted it to another that he yielded 
to the conviction it was true no longer. 
Mildred was still docile, unselfish, watch- 
ful, quick to anticipate his desires; but 
her affection had become only receptive. 
She yielded to his caresses, she returned 
them as far as required, but she no longer 
initiated. There was no more stealing 
up behind him and throwing her arms 
about his neck, her cheek next to his. The 
playful little jokes were gone; now and 
then she even took his irony for earnest, 
a painful sign of diverging thought. He 


A RECOVERY 


115 


had not before seen it clearly, but it was 
a fact that he was losing her. 

Ill 

How had it happened ? Was it his fault ? 
Certainly his love was not less. Never 
had she been dearer than at this minute. 
She was so woven into all the threads of 
his enjoyment of life that she was indis- 
pensable. He could not picture what 
would happen to him without her. He 
went back over the recent weeks and 
months in search of any apparent care- 
lessness or neglect. He could not find 
an instance; it had been more than ever 
his joy to invent little surprises for her, 
to gratify her slightest desires. No, his 
love had every day increased, and there 
had been no cross current to interrupt 
its manifestation. The rift within the 
lute had not come from him. 


116 


A RECOVERY 


IV 

Had some other man entered her life? 
He ran over in his mind every man she 
was accustomed to meet, laughing as the 
absurdity in each case appeared so mani- 
fest. Then he ran his mind back over 
them again, pausing this time at one name 
which at first had seemed preposterous. 
Fernando Tate was a mere boy, still in the 
effervescent stage, too young to be con- 
sidered. Then it occurred to him that 
Fernando was a year older than Mildred, 
and that her point of view might be dif- 
ferent. 

V 

Most men have their vanities. Cuth- 
bert Knight’s was his love for music. He 
had not been musically educated; all his 
knowledge was picked up. But he had 
always reached for the highest, it had 


A RECOVERY 


117 


seemed to him that appreciation of music 
belonged to a rich cultivation, and he had 
seized every opportunity to hear it. He 
had always lived in the country, far from 
a music centre, but when he went to New 
York, or afterwards to London and Paris 
and Berlin and Vienna, he had always 
put music first, and he had heard most 
of the commoner operas and oratorios. 
In the first dozen bars he could place and 
name the Miserere, the Pilgrim’s chorus, 
the Torreador’s song, Know’st thou the 
land, Infelice, so that among the country 
people he seemed a virtuoso. Had his 
village heard that he had been appointed 
director of the Metropolitan they would 
have thought the opera house fortunate. 

VI 

It had been one of his reasons for think- 
ing he could make Mildred happy. She 


118 


A RECOVERY 


had been brought up in a suburb of Boston 
where the concerts and the opera season 
were considered as much a part of educa- 
tion as the public school. She was not 
an artist, but she could play anything on 
the piano. Her musical education had 
cultivated appreciation rather than exe- 
cution, she knew music thoroughly, and 
she missed it when she came to Buck- 
minster to teach. 

Truth to tell, she was not a good teacher. 
She was a Wellesley graduate but she had 
never been a profound student. She had 
apprehension and appreciation but not 
application. She did not know her sub- 
jects well and she did not seem to have the 
capacity to master them. It had been 
because she needed so much help that Mr. 
Knight had seen so much of her. She 
was probably too willing to be aided, too 


A RECOVERY 


119 


much inclined to lean back on his right 
arm instead of struggling with the current 
for herself. But she was grateful. She 
believed that never before had there been 
so great and so good a man. When he 
intimated that he would be inclined to ask 
her to marry him were it not so great a 
sacrifice for her, she did not hesitate to 
indicate to him that she could imagine no 
happier future. 

VII 

His first care was to satisfy her musical 
taste. He bought a Weber piano that 
responded to every touch, and on the start 
put beside it the Schirmer set of operas 
in uniform binding. To this he added 
generously till their musical library be- 
came the talk of the county. 

When the graphophone began to re- 
produce they sneered at “canned music” 


120 


A RECOVERY 


and took no interest in its subsequent 
development. But one day when Mr. 
Knight was in Albany on business one of 
the assistant commissioners took him home 
to dinner, and after it the son played the 
victrola. Mr. Knight expected to endure 
it, but the first selection was Schumann- 
Heink’s “My heart at thy sweet voice”. 
He had heard her sing it, and he was amaz- 
ed that the tone was so adequately repor- 
duced. When he listened to Caruso, Ho- 
mer, and Tamagno’s “Death of Othello” 
he became a convert. He went on down 
the river to New York, spent three days 
listening to records, and came home with a 
two-hundred dollar instrument and music 
that cost as much more. 

His wife’s incredulity vanished, and 
both spent their evenings in this new lux- 
ury. They appropriated tea dollars a 


A RECOVERY 


121 


month to new records, Mildred choosing 
them from the monthly announcements. 
The records Mr. Krrfght had bought were 
vocal; his musical taste had not gone 
far beyond the air. But Mildred selected 
solos with orchestral accompaniments, and 
interested her husband in these. Finally 
she smuggled in Haydn’s Surprise sym- 
phony, and got him to enjoy the second 
movement, where the same simple air is 
played in key after key by instrument 
after instrument with variation after varia- 
tion. When he finally grasped this and 
enjoyed it she found him willing to buy 
symphonies from Beethoven and Schubert; 
finally from Dvorak and Tschaikowski. 
He learned to enjoy the orchestra better 
than the voice. When the Edison machine 
came out, they bought the transferrable 
diamond reproducer by which they could 


122 


A RECOVERY 


play Edison records on the victrola, and . 
now that each instrument could be heard 
so individually he learned to recognize 
and appreciate not only the violin and 
cello and flute and clarinet and trumpet 
and tuba and trombone, but the oboe and 
the bassoon and the shepherd’s pipe and 
the French horn. In short Mr. Knight’s 
little store of musical knowledge grew 
by leaps and bounds, and to tell the truth 
his pride in it became tiresome. 

VIII 

One night when some new records had 
come from New York, Mr. Knight invited 
Fernando Tate to supper and to hear the 
victrola. Fernando was the son of an 
attache of the consulate at Leipzig, too 
obscure to be noticed, too useful to be 
displaced, who had eked out a small salary 
by tips from dealers who wanted their 


A RECOVERY 


123 


invoices expedited. His wife had died 
over there, leaving Fernando an infant. 
The father had paid for his board and 
clothes and education, but given him little 
attention. The boy went through the 
Teischmann schule and the gymnasium 
and the university. He even took the 
conservatory course and got his diploma 
there. He would have liked to make music 
his profession, but he did not have the 
artist’s touch, and his father insisted that 
for a man music was an excellent accom- 
plishment but a poor business. 

So when his father died suddenly, leav- 
ing little property, Fernando came to 
America. It seemed a choice between 
giving piano lessons and teaching German. 
He chose the latter, and Mr. Knight got 
hold of him, wanting the German thought 
as well as speech. 


124 


A RECOVERY 


IX 

When this evening the victrola records 
came to be played, Mr. Knight discovered 
how shallow and circumscribed was his 
musical knowledge. He had talked over 
this music with Mildred; had instructed 
her, as he thought. But when Fernando 
and she conversed about it they used a 
new language, terms that he did not know 
even the meaning of, like imperfect conso- 
nances, subordinate triads, deceptive ca- 
dencies, the cantus firmus in alto, succes- 
sion of a perfect and an augmented fifth; 
and they recognized harmony where to 
him there was a blur of sound. 

Cuthbert was overwhelmed, but his was 
not a petty nature to be jealous. He was 
glad Mildred had this opportunity to 
develop her musical taste, and he invited 
Fernando often. She became eager to 


A RECOVERY 


125 


have Fernando come, excited while he 
was there, reminiscent when he had gone. 
He could reproduce anything upon the 
piano, and when an air of a harmony es- 
pecially interested them he could develop 
it, and he often staid late. As Cuthbert 
looked back with his new suspicion he 
saw that Mildred had been interested in 
the man as well as in the music. He had 
fascinated her. That way lay danger. 
X 

He tossed over it all night, and he took 
the morning train to Ipswich. 

“Mr. Appleton,’’ he said, “I find that on 
account of my wife’s health I shall have 
to go to the Rocky mountains, if possible 
at once. Can you get me a place out 
there somewhere?” 

Mr. Appleton knew Mildred and her 
family. Her lungs were sound; there was 


126 


A RECOVERY 


some other reason. He did not ask what, 
but took up the telephone. “Give me 
Helena, Main 2934.” 

The reply came from the state superin- 
tendent of public instruction, and Mr. 
Appleton went on: “I am wondering if 
you happen to have an immediate vacancy 
for a ten-tho^isand dollar superintendent 
who can be had for two thousand dollars.” 

“As it happens I have just been notified 
that Bancroft of Heliopolis died yesterday. 
Tell me about your man.” And before 
noon Mr. Knight was engaged, to go at 
once. 

XI 

Returning home, Cuthbert saw the mem- 
bers of the board and got his release: in 
point of fact he was chagrined that they 
were so willing to let him go; they seemed 
to think Mr. Tate could carry on the school 


A RECOVERY 


127 


well enough. Mr. Knight was renting his 
house furnished, and by good luck the 
owner was rather glad to move back. He 
arranged to have his piano and victrola 
and music packed, and only then went 
home and told his wife, “We start tomorrow 
for Montana. I have been appointed 
superintendent at Heliopolis, a great pro- 
motion.” 

She betrayed no agitation or regret, 
but seemed proud of his success. She 
had no relatives nearer than Boston and 
there were no people in the village she felt 
she must single out for good-bye, so they 
relied for leave-taking upon a notice in 
the newspaper, and took the Sunday even- 
ing train. Mr. Knight was confident his 
wife had not communicated with Fernando, 
and that he had removed her from tempta- 
tion in time. 


128 


A RECOVERY 


XII 

She seemed happy in their new home. 
He had found pleasant furnished rooms, 
and she enjoyed the people as well as the 
climate. He blessed his penetration in 
having discovered her danger and led her 
to escape it. 

One noon he heard her fall on the floor 
in a sudden faint. He rushed in and laid 
her upon the bed, but in looking for her 
his glance had fallen on a desk he had 
given her, a queer affair he had picked up 
in Florence, lined with steel, and with a 
complicated lock. He had always re- 
spected his wife’s individuality, and had 
told her this desk was her treasure-house; 
she was to keep in it not only her money 
and her jewelry but her secrets. She had 
left it open, and Mr. Knight’s quick glance 
had without purpose fallen on a little 


A RECOVERY 


129 


packet of letters tied with a blue ribbon, 
the envelopes addressed in Fernando’s 
handwriting to “Miss Mary Huchison”, 
and the last dated that very month. His 
wife was maintaining a secret correspon- 
dence. 

He closed the desk even before he minis- 
tered to his wife, that she might not know 
he had discovered her secret, and he was 
rewarded to see the relief that came into 
her eyes, when as she recovered conscious- 
ness she cast a quick look at the desk and 
found it closed. 

He gave no hint of his discovery, but he 
sat up that night long into the small hours. 
His wife loved another and had deceived 
him. It seemed impossible but he must 
face it. What should he do? 

XIII 

Should he give her up ? He considered 
that first. If it was for her happiness it 


130 


A RECOVERY 


was not impossible. Reno was not far 
away and six months would do it. 

But he could not believe she would be 
happy. Fernando Tate was a fellow of 
pleasant manners, plausible exterior, quick 
apprehension, ready to be all things to all 
men. But he had no conscience, no prin- 
ciples. He believed in nothing, not even 
in himself. He had no stability, no ap- 
plication. He had not even proved a 
good German teacher, neglecting his work 
as soon as the novelty wore off. Letters 
Mr. Knight had received from teachers 
and members of the board showed that 
he had not made good as principal. Though 
the school was well organized and would 
run some time on its momentum, the 
inefficiency of the new head was already 
manifest. He was not even doing his 
best. 


A RECOVERY 


131 


His education in Germany had given him 
nothing of American chivalry toward 
women. He considered them instruments 
of his pleasure, without a thought of ideal- 
izing them or sacrificing for them. Mil- 
dred was just now the object of his desire, 
but if he married her he would soon tire 
of her. She would penetrate his slight 
veil of conventionality and discover the 
selfish nature underneath. No, it would 
be cruelty to turn her over to him. 

XIV 

How could he snatch him out of her 
life ? He recalled seeing Rhea in the Amer- 
ican four-act version of Diane de Lys. 
When the wife and her lover were eloping 
the husband opened the door upon them 
and told the lover if he was ever again 
even seen with the wife he would be shot 
like a dog. The lover slunk off, and the 


132 


A RECOVERY 


wife seeing how much stronger and more 
manly the husband was turned back to 
him, and they were happy ever after. 

But it happened one night in Venice, 
when he had gone to the opera but found 
he had mistaken Tuesday for Friday and 
was returning to his hotel, that he passed 
the little French theatre and went in, not 
observing the name of the play. He soon 
found it was Diane de Lys, this time as 
Dumas wrote it, and as he looked on he 
felt that the parts were not well assigned. 
The lover was not the man to slink away, 
and when the fourth act ended it was no 
longer conclusive. He rose to go, but 
saw that the audience was waiting for 
another act and sat down again. The 
lover did come back, the husband did 
shoot him like a dog, but it seemed coward- 
ly, and the husband and wife were left 


A RECOVERY 


133 


united by law but divided in spirit; like 
the last play he saw at the Comedie Fran- 
cais, Les Tenailles , where before the final 
fall of the curtain the husband and wife 
were left on the stage in silence to contem- 
plate the misery of the rest of their lives, 
fastened together like a pair of shears, 
but coming in contact only to grind one 
another. 

XV 

He could not imagine spying in any way 
upon his wife. It was wholly unintention- 
ally that he discovered Fernando was cor- 
responding with her. If she carelessly 
left one of the letters outside he would not 
dream of looking at it. If a telegram 
came for her he not only would not open 
it but he would be careful not to be present 
when she got it and would show no curios- 
ity about it. But in order to protect Mil- 


134 


A RECOVERY 


dred he was quite willing to spy upon Fer- 
nando. Vacation was at hand and he 

/ 

wrote to a detective agency to find out 
what Fernando planned. 

Before long this telegram came: “Leaves 
today by Rock Island, sleeping car for 
Heliopolis, arrive Tuesday morning.” 

XVI 

He was coming of course by appoint- 
ment, and all sorts of possibilities opened. 
Cuthbert had no question that Mildred 
was so far innocent of physical wrong- 
doing, but this looked like an elopement. 
What must be done? 

He might go to Omaha, meet the train, 
thresh Fernando to within an inch of his 
life, and ship him back east. He might 
even meet Fernando and threaten to do 
it, and such he was sure was Fernando’s 
cowardice that he would still return east. 


A RECOVERY 


135 


That would save Mildred from her 
lover but it would not give her back to her 
husband. Some way she must be brought 
to see that her husband was in every way, 
except that detestable proficiency in music, 
a better and stronger and worthier man 
than her lover. How could that be brought 
about? He pondered over it for hours 
and at last hit upon a solution so satisfac- 
tory that he resigned himself at once to 
peaceful slumber. 

XVII 

Half a day’s ride by train from Heliopo- 
lis, across the British line, was a tract of 
forest, the trees not grown enough to be 
worth cutting for lumber, and the soil not 
fertile enough to reclaim. There were not 
even paths or trails through it, and the 
visitor must find his way by a compass. 
It happened that two members of the board 


136 


A RECOVERY 


of education had gone through from west 
to east, one vacation, and they were so en- 
thusiastic about cutting loose from civili- 
zation, starting out in the morning without 
guess where they should camp at night, 
getting most of their food by rifle and 
fish-line, sleeping under the stars, hearing 
the noises of the woods till they seemed 
to be communing with nature as in pri- 
meval times, that they not only wanted 
to go themselves again, but had inspired 
their wives to pray to be taken along too. 
In fact there had been a tentative project 
for a new party of four men and their 
wives to start early in July. 

It needed only a little of Cuthbert’s 
energy and persuasiveness to develop 
the project into a definite plan, with agree- 
ment to take the train at noon of the very 
day Fernando was to arrive. 


A RECOVERY 


137 


XVIII 

Mildred had felt objections she did not 
want to express, but as there would still 
be the morning of Tuesday to see Fernando 
she acquiesced. When Fernando pre- 
sented himself. Cuthbert was naturally 
very much surprised, but he welcomed 
him cordially, and invited him to join the 
party as his guest. To this Fernando 
was glad enough to respond, while Mildred 
felt in a heaven of bliss. 

Fernando’s youth had been passed in 
the city of Leipzig, and the vastness of 
an American forest amazed him. The 
train had obligingly stopped at the west- 
ern boundary where there was no station, 
and the first evening they had made their 
way far enough into the woods to be en- 
gulfed. After supper about an enormous 
fire beds were made for the women in the 


0 


138 


A RECOVERY 


centre and for the five men circling about 
them, to protect them from possible harm. 
As Fernando lay on his rubber blanker 
and peered through the trees at the starry 
sky he seemed in a new existence. He 
wondered first at the silence of the woods, 
and when he became accustomed to that 
he wondered at the myriad noises. The 
birds had gone to rest, but he heard crea- 
tures moving, some of them stealthily. 
Once footsteps approached that he thought 
to be of some animal as big as a bear, and 
he raised himself on his elbow, hoping to 
see some curious brown bruin investigating. 
But the noise he made alarmed the animal, 
and he heard the steps shuffling off into 
the darkness. He felt at one with nature 
as never before, and wondered that so 
much of life had been shut out from him. 


A RECOVERY 


139 


XIX 

But in one expectation he was disap- 
pointed. He had looked forward to long 
tete-a-tetes with Mildred, perhaps to 
afternoons together in the solitude: he 
had assumed something of the complacent 
condescension of the successful lover for 
the complaisant husband. But oppor- 
tunities did not arise. In the first place, 
this was a party of groups, not of indi- 
viduals, and from first to last the four 
women were together. They slept togeth- 
er, were left together by the men for an 
hour or two after breakfast, and were 
never far separated. But there was more 
than this. The other three women had 
resented that Fernando should be Mildred’s 
guest rather than her husband’s. They 
were simple, elemental women, who had 
been too much absorbed in making their 


140 


A RECOVERY 


homes and their husbands happy to have 
much knowledge of the eternal triangle 
or much patience with it. Cuthbert might 
be willing his wife should go trapesing 
around with another man, but they would 
take care he had no opportunity in this 
crowd. 

So every effort to create a tete-a-tete 
was circumvented. Three determined 
women can make the path of the seducer 
difficult, and Fernando found it impos- 
sible. 

XX 

By the time the novelty had worn off 
and he found his special scheme blocked, 
another disappointment overtook Fernan- 
do. A travelling camping party involves 
considerable labor. The knapsacks of the 
men weighed sixty pounds each, and even 
for short journeys sixty pounds becomes 


A RECOVERY 


141 


a grievous load. Then there were the 
guns, the fishing tackle, the camp axe and 
frying pan and iron kettle. At first he reach- 
ed out for his share of these and carried 
them blithely, but as the days wore on he 
escaped all that he could and went lighter- 
loaded than the rest. The other men were 
big, generous westerners, willing to do 
more than their part, but they could not 
help thinking sometimes of the two oxen, 
one willing to do all the work and the 
other willing he should. 

When they paused for camp there was 
much to be done. Wood had to be gather- 
ed for the big fire, boughs had to be cut 
and stripped for the beds under the rubber 
blankets, water had to be brought in con- 
siderable quantity, there was much clean- 
ing up which he detested: altogether every 
man had several hours work. 


142 


A RECOVERY 


When he recognized it as work Fernando 
loathed it. In Germany he had never 
dreamed of sweeping his room or blacking 
his shoes: that was work for the maid. 
Once when a good deal of pains was taken 
to make the beds of the women comfor- 
table his impatience found expression. 
“Thank God I have no wife,” he exclaimed. 
And Mrs. Kennett, whose ancestors lived 
in Killamey, retorted, “Thank God for 
her too. If ye had one it’s ashamed she’d 
of ye at this minute.” 

“Why, Nora,” reproved her husband, 
but everybody was glad it had been said, 
and thereafter Fernando knew and all the 
rest knew that he knew that he was not a 
popular member of the party. Only Cuth- 
bert never failed in courtesy to his guest. 
Little by little Mildred came to see Fer- 
nando through the eyes of the others and 


A RECOVERY 


143 


to feel even more than their contempt 
for him. There was no music here. 
Neither she nor Fernando sang well and 
there was no instrument. So that glamour 
had disappeared, and every revelation of 
his narrow and selfish nature made her 
wonder the more what she could have 
seen in him to admire. 

XXI 

They were half way through the woods 
and at the highest point when one morning 
the oldest man in the party, who had 
come to Montana as a frontiersman, be- 
came anxious. “I had thought we were 
safe from storms,” he said, “but a sou’- 
wester is coming that is going to be dis- 
astrous. It will drench us almost beyond 
drying, and make it almost impossible 
to keep a fire.” 

“When will it get here?” asked Cuth- 
bert. 


144 


A RECOVERY 


“Not before four o’clock: perhaps not 
before night.” 

Cuthbert looked about. “We can put 
up considerable of a shack before that 
time,” he said, naturally assuming the 
leadership. “Will it come from the south- 
west?” 

“Straight.” 

Cuthbert selected a point higher than 
the rest so that water would rtm off, and 
found two trees with crotches firm enough 
to hold a heavy pole with slight slant to 
southwest. He selected a tree to be cut 
for that, and while the frontiersman was 
felling it he found two more trees whose 
crotches would hold a similar pole at a 
lower level but parallel. When the poles 
were in place a roof was outlined. 

But the storm would be heavy, so he had 
a multitude of small straight limbs cut 


A RECOVERY 


145 


of uniform length, and had the poles notch- 
ed to hold firmly these limbs. 

“What good will that roof be?” asked 
Fernando, whose role had been dissent and 
incredulity, especially idleness. 

Cuthbert took one of the nine rubber 
blankets and fastened it to the southwest 
lower corner of the roof by large thumb- 
tacks he had fortunately thought to bring. 
Then he fastened -the others to the side 
and above the entire roof was covered with 
a protection that seemed fairly waterproof. 
Over this pine branches were heaped and 
carried on down behind, while the ends 
were piled full of the driest wood that 
could be found. In front was built an enor- 
mous fire, and though the storm lasted 
for hours the fire cheered outside, while 
within the little group rejoiced in its safety. 


146 


A RECOVERY 


XXII 

The entire party was confined in the 
shack all night. Fernando, already pain- 
fully conscious of the contempt there was 
little further pains to conceal, accepted 
his portion of the shelter and the food, 
but made no attempt to be sociable. Once 
he put his hand upon Mildred’s arm, but 
she withdrew from the touch with a vio- 
lence that made her repugnance manifest. 
Her husband was the hero of the hour, 
and that this shirk should have aspired 
to her seemed an insult. 

As soon as they reached the stream that 
led to the railroad station on the east, 
so that he could follow it safely alone, 
Fernando said to Cuthbert, “I think I 
will go ahead; I am in a hurry to get back 
east;” and he went without a word to the 
rest of the party. When Cuthbert told 


A RECOVERY 


147 


Mildred she threw her arms about his 
neck in the warmest embrace she had 
ever given him. 

“Thank God, we shall never see him 
again,” she said: and she shuddered. 








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♦ 













































































































Unconscious tuition 



UNCONSCIOUS TUITION 


I 

Mr. Marbeck and his wife were opening 
Christmas envelopes. “Here is a name 
I don’t remember,” he said, handing her a 
simple little card with only “Xmas” and 
the name “Doris Boone”. There was not 
even an address, nor could the postmark 
be deciphered. All they could surmise, 
and that was largely guess-work, was that 
it came from Alabama. 

“Have you ever been in that state?” 
asked Mrs. Marbeck. 

“No, except to come through on the 
Illinois Central, with no stop. I must have 
met her some time in travelling.” 

“Doris. The name is unusual.” 

( 151 ) 


152 UNCONSCIOUS TUITION 

‘‘Probably I didn’t call her by that.” 

“It must have been a long time ago.” 

“O yes, years and years. If it had been 
recently I should recall the name.” 

“And you must have made a deep im- 
pression on her that she remembers you 
so long.” 

“Apparently, but my recollection is not 
of her name. Perhaps if I saw her face I 
should recall it.” 

“How many people your bountiful na- 
ture has overflowed upon,” remarked 
wife proudly. 

“There appears no evidence of it here. 
All this shows is that her memory is better 
than mine, and I am to be reproached.” 

II 

“Yes, Justine, it transformed my whole 
life.” 


“A single afternoon?” 


UNCONSCIOUS TUITION 


153 


“But there was so much in it. I had 
been visiting a classmate who had wan- 
dered from her New York home down to 
our southern college, and I was on my way 
from Ithaca to Boston by what seemed the 
best connection, through Geneva. It hap- 
pened that there was a county fair near by. 
and when I got, to the train, a little late, I 
wandered the length of the car before I 
found even half a seat. I asked the man in 
it if the other half was occupied and he 
readily made way for me. When he looked 
up he seemed to recognize me as a southern 
girl and asked if it was my first trip on this 
road. I told him it was, and he insisted 
on my taking the window seat, and 
pointed out everything to be seen, telling 
me a great deal about Taghannock falls, 
of which we had a glimpse, interesting me 
in the crops, and calling attention to the 
beautiful views across the lake.” 


154 


UNCONSCIOUS TUITION 


“Rather forward for a stranger, wasn’t 
he?” 

“It didn’t seem so in the least. It was 
all general information, with no sugges- 
tion of being personal; just the courtesy 
a lady so appreciates from an unquestioned 
gentleman.” 

“Didn’t he ask your name and where 
you were from and where you were going 
and whom you were going to stay with?” 

“Why, Justine Palfrey, he never asked 
my name until at the end of the day he 
offered to send me a book that would il- 
lustrate something we had been talking 
of, and then he let me write my address 
in a memorandum book; I never knew what 
his name was or where he lived till the 
book came, with a pretty inscription as a 
gift ‘In memory of a delightful afternoon’, 
with his name and address. It was years 


UNCONSCIOUS TUITION 


155 


after that before I learned from a man who 
happened to know him that he was a teach- 
er.” 

“1 thought you could tell a teacher 
across the street.” 

I 

“Not Mr. Marbeck. There was never 
a hint of giving instruction or of feeling 
that his opinion was better than mine. 
We were just comrades, good fellows to- 
gether.” 

“With no introduction except a crowded 
car! I wouldn’t have thought it of you, 
Doris.” 

“Why, before we got to Geneva I felt 
as if we had been boy and girl together. 
We both thought so much alike about 
things that I talked with him about mat- 
ters that before I had only reflected upon 
by myself, and it was astonishing how the 
very telling cleared them up in my own 


156 


UNCONSCIOUS TUITION 


mind. When I hesitated he would sug- 
gest the rest, showing in what parallel 
lines our thoughts had run.” 

“All this, riding to Geneva?” 

“It seemed such a short ride, but the 
train was behind and losing time. He 
was afraid we should miss connections, 
for he was going to Syracuse himself. It 
seemed the two stations were a mile apart, 
which I had not understood, and except 
for him I should have had to stay in Ge- 
neva. ‘Luckily the Auburn road is always 
late,’ he laughed, and sure enough we just 
caught a train twenty minutes slow. But 
we barely jumped aboard and there seemed 
no chance of supper before we got to Syra- 
cuse, two hours away.” 

“You surely didn’t let him feed you!” 

“We had the most delightful picnic you 
could dream of. He called up the train 


UNCONSCIOUS TUITION 


157 


boy and bought a supply of fruit and choc- 
olate and peanuts, and gave him a dollar 
to jump off at the first station where 
there was any sort of a restaurant near by 
and get sandwiches and coffee. So we 
doubled our seat, and between us we man- 
aged to serve the food quite daintily, and 
both of us ate with great enjoyment.” 

“All this in a public train with a man 
you had never heard of three hours be- 
fore!” 

“Without a minute’s hesitation or em- 
barrassment, and knowing that every 
woman on the car envied me my escort.” 

“Doris Oldys’ And at what point did 
he begin to make love to you?” 

“He never thought of making love to 
me; I never thought of his doing it. I 
don’t think he was married, for he made 
no reference to wife or children when if 


158 


UNCONSCIOUS TUITION 


he had had them he would naturally have 
spoken of them. But it was not as a pos- 
sible wife that he was nice to me. He was 
simply paying the tribute of a gentleman 
to a lady travelling alone whom he could 
assist.” 

Ill 

“And who interested him.” 

“Yes, that was the joy of it, that I did 
interest so fine a man. Justine, except 
for meeting him that afternoon I should 
have married Barnaby Cone.” 

“You don’t mean it, Doris.” 

“Yes, we girls were all brought up to 
marry, and Barnaby was as promising as 
any man in my environment. This little 
trip was really a sort of farewell to my 
girlhood, and I intended to say yes to 
Barnaby when I got back.” 

“That was a lucky escape. ,r 


UNCONSCIOUS TUITION 


159 


“Yes, I doubt if he had any possibili- 
ties with any wife; he seems to me now a 
mere animal.” 

“What made you decide not to marry 
him?” 

“A little anecdote Mr. Marbeck told 
incidentally of a man who was asked, 
‘Is your wife entertaining this winter?’ 
and who replied wearily, ‘Not very.’ ” 

“How did that apply to Barnaby?” 

“Perfectly. I had never been able to 
entertain him even while he was courting 
me. How could I hope to when we were 
married?” 

“Had you no common interests?” 

“If he ever had an original thought ex- 
cept about dogs and horses he never ex- 
pressed it to me. He liked to get near me 
and touch me and was always trying to 
get closer in body, but he never had a 
desire to get closer in mind or soul.” 


160 


UNCONSCIOUS TUITION 


“Was he really as gross as that then?” 

“Yes. I supposed it was the man and 
woman of it, and that it was the only 
communion we could ever have. But I 
learned from Mr. Marbeck that there was 
another kind of intercourse between men 
and women and that I was fitted for it.” 

“So you wouldn’t waste yourself on 
Barnaby.” 

“No, I gave him his final answer so 
positively that he accepted it.” 

IV 

“Where did you meet Governor Oldys?” 

“In Rome. My two aunts took me 
there that winter, somehow thinking I 
was depressed because my marriage had 
not come off. We sailed for Naples, and 
after three days there went to Rome for 
the winter, taking rooms at the Hotel 
Bristol and living quietly.” 


UNCONSCIOUS TUITION 


161 


“I can imagine it was quiet with two 
aunts both over sixty years old and both 
widows of ministers of the Presbyterian 
church south.” 

“They were very kind, but it was weari- 
some. Their idea of sightseeing was to 
go somewhere in a carriage at ten, stay 
till half past eleven, and talk it over in the 
afternoon.” 

“Couldn’t you go out alone?” 

“No, they were too timid for me and 
felt sure Rome abounded in pitfalls. I 
kept hoping we should pick up acquain- 
tances at the hotel but we did not run 
across any family parties I could attach 
myself to.” 

“But where did Governor Oldys come 
in?” 

“At dinner I sat on the right of my 
aunts, and there had been next to me for 


162 


UNCONSCIOUS TUITION 


a few days a couple of fresh Oxford grad- 
uates off to see the world. They paid no 
attention to me, but their talk with each 
other was breezy and I was sorry to have 
them go. I feared some old dowager 
would be pushed up next to me, but in- 
stead it was Mr. Oldys. He bowed to us 
as he seated himself but offered no remark 
and evidently intended to think his own 
thoughts in silence.” 

“What broke the ice?” 

“He was speaking only what he thought 
to be Italian to the waiter, who as in all 
first-class hotels assumed to understand 
him perfectly, but had difficulty when it 
came to the wine. Mr. Oldys ordered 
Lagrima Cristi. The waiter asked if he 
wanted it spumante. He had evidently 
not heard of sparkling Italian wines and 
thought the waiter misunderstood him, so 


UNCONSCIOUS TUITION 


163 


he repeated, ‘Lagrima Cristi’. It led to 
considerable conversation, which though 
nominally in Italian revealed so much 
southern accent that when the waiter had 
gone my Aunt Lucinda asked, ‘I beg par- 
don, but are you not from Alabama?’ ” 

“A good guess, from a man’s speaking 
Italian.” 

“Aunt Lucinda always was quick that 
way, and she was right. He replied court- 
eously and gravely, ‘I was born in Eufaula.’ 
My aunt was so delighted that she replied 
with unusual forwardness, ‘My niece was 
born at Cowikee.’ He looked at me still 
gravely, and as gravely replied, ‘Then your 
niece and I must be twins.’ ” 

“That was startling enough.” 

“Aunt Lucinda was rather shocked, 
but she asked, as she was obliged to, for 
an explanation. ‘We were born within 


164 


UNCONSCIOUS TUITION 


ten miles and ten years of each other, 
madam,’ he replied, ‘end in view of the 
enormous distances here in Rome that is 
practical identity.’ ” 

“He was certainly establishing a rela- 
tion.’’ 

“I made up my mind that was just what 
he should do. This was the sort of droll 
view of things I had enjoyed so much in 
Mr. Marbeck, and if I had been able to 
interest Mr. Marbeck I could interest this 
man. I waited a little for him to go on 
with the conversation, and as he relapsed 
into silence and indifference I began to ask 
him what he had seen that day.” 

“It must have shocked your aunts!” 

“Indeed it did. I really had to be per- 
sistent, for he was determined to avoid 
an acquaintance. But by great good luck 
he had seen this first day just what my 


UNCONSCIOUS TUITION 


165 


aunts and I had given most attention to 
and that I not only knew something about 
but had thought something about. I 
remembered Mr. Marbeck’s advice, ‘Al- 
ways avoid the obvious,’ and was careful 
to say nothing he could find in guide-books; 
but I gave him new points of view, and 
presently he began to tell what he had 
thought. By the contrefilet provencale he 
had turned to look at me, by the perdreaux 
rotis he had begun to smile, and with the 
ponding souffle we were comrades, and we 
lingered over the coffee.” 

“Did he follow you into the drawing- 
room?” 

“He didn’t, but he ascertained that we 
took breakfast down stairs at eight and he 
was there. He chatted delightfully, and 
I hoped he would propose accompanying 
us, but he did not. In fact we did not 


166 


UNCONSCIOUS TUITION 


see him at lunch, but at dinner he was on 
time and had brought down a hideously 
beautiful bronze statue he had bought at 
an auction.” 

“He was becoming confidential.” 

“My aunts looked at it enviously. ‘How 
did you know about an auction?’ Aunt 
Lovisa asked. 

“ ‘From the newspaper, to be sure,’ 
he replied. ‘Don’t you have the morning 
journal?’ 

“‘We could’t read it; we haven’t 
learned Italian yet.’ And then I added 
wickedly, ‘How did you pick it up so soon?’ 

“ ‘I take foreign languages as I used to 
take children’s diseases,’ he replied, ‘light 
attack and soon over; but while I have 
them I make them serve my purpose. 
Now take this sale.’ He showed me the 
catalogue. ‘ Catalogo ,’ you can read that.’ 


UNCONSCIOUS TUITION 


167 


‘Catalogue.’ I said. ‘ Della vendite .’ I 
could guess that from my Latin, * Of 
the sale.’ l Al Palazzetto Sciarra. 1 ‘At 
the little Sciarra palace?’ I hazarded. 
‘Yes. You see how easy it is.’ 

“Then he went through some of the 
pages, read the names of the articles, 
showed the prices he had marked, pointed 
out where the bronze statue came in, and 
explained that he had gone not so much 
to purchase as to see without restriction 
the interior of a Roman apartment of the 
better class. It made me realize how little 
I was seeing of Rome, or could see unless 
I could somehow persuade him to let me 
look with him.” 

“Well of all the impudence, Doris 01- 
dys!” 

“If I had not been impudent I should 
never have been Doris Oldys. It seems 


168 


UNCONSCIOUS TUITION 


he had been jilted. After the wedding 
cake had been ordered the girl ran away 
with another fellow. He gave up Alabama 
and America and women and came over to 
Europe to travel solitary. He has since 
told me that nothing less positive than my 
determination could have prevented his 
sliding away into solitude again. But 
always I kept saying to myself, ‘I inter- 
ested Mr. Marbeck and I can interest him’ ; 
and I did.” 

‘‘What happened first?” 

‘‘The next day was Sunday. At break- 
fast I asked him what his plans were and 
he said he was going to a horse-race.” 

‘‘That must have ingratiated your aunts.’ 

“It was his salvation. They were too 
shocked to expostulate, but I argued with 
him. He said it was the only time to see 
Roman society at its gayest; that it was 


UNCONSCIOUS TUITION 


169 


his duty to go. I rejoined that there were 
higher duties, and that the seventh day 
was for rest, at least for something differ- 
ent.” 

“As a matter of fact he had the best 
of the argument, Doris.” 

“I really think so myself, but just as I 
felt defeated he yielded with charming 
courtesy and begged to be allowed to ac- 
company us to chapel.” 

“And your aunts?” 

“After that there was nothing he could 
not ask. We were all proud of his escort, 
he put a gold piece in the plate, and coming 
home he showed that he had pondered 
the sermon.” 

“And what reward did he ask?” 

“A great one, I confess. The next day 
a season of opera opened at the Costanzi, 
and he begged to be allowed to take me.” 


170 


UNCONSCIOUS TUITION 


“Your aunt Lucinda never let you go 
to the opera!” 

“She never had. In all my life I had 
never entered an opera-house or a theatre. 
But he told them the opera was Carmen, 
so vivid a picture of Spanish life that one 
might better have seen the opera and not 
have gone to Spain, than have gone to 
Spain and not seen the opera. Then he 
knew all the singers, and explained that 
opera was the medium through which great 
voices were made known in Italy. On 
Saturday he would have been pleading 
against a stone wall, but after that Sunday 
service they were ready to listen favorably 
to anything he said. They promised him 
a decision at dinner, but he bought the 
seats that morning.” 

“And you went?” 

“Justine, there can never be another 


UNCONSCIOUS TUITION 


171 


night in my life like that. The brilliant 
assemblage; the great orchestra; that 
fascinating music heard for the first time; 
the plot, the first I had ever seen on the 
stage; Carmen’s seductive song; the tor- 
reador — O it was all an ecstacy, and under 
and behind it a companion so sympathetic 
that every delight was doubled.” 

“Did he propose on the way home?” 

“That was the beauty of it, he was like 
Mr. Marbeck in that. There wasn’t a 
tinge of the personal, the sentimental. 
My aunts were sitting up to the unwonted 
hour in great anxiety, but they were re- 
lieved when we came in to see, as they well 
might, that we might be trusted anywhere 
without a chaperone.” 

“So after that you could go everywhere.” 

“ Yes . We went twice more to the opera , 
Fra Diavolo, and Marie de Rohan, the 


172 


UNCONSCIOUS TUITION 


only time I ever saw that; we saw La Fille 
de Madame Angot as a pantomime at the 
Metastasio, the music rushed through at 
a gallop; we even went to a circus in the 
mausoleum of Augustus.” 

“And you must have seen the churches 
and galleries together?” 

“O yes. One of the first was St. Peter’s. 
We rode over with my aunts, and then 
we two went up the dome while my aunts 
went to drive, to be back at noon. Such 
a funny thing happened there. When 
you get up into the dome there is still an 
ascent to the ball, and we wondered why 
the guard kept us back instead of letting 
us go up in turn. But we discovered. 
It seems we had to go up an erect ladder, 
and the guard wanted to have no one else 
but my escort there when I went up. Of 
course I had to go straight up over his 


UNCONSCIOUS TUITION 


173 


head, and I presume I blenched, but I did 
not hesitate a second, and I knew as well 
before as after that he would protect my 
skirts and never recognize an opportunity 
to take advantage.” 

“That was a test of the gentleman, to 
know he would not.” 

“Another memorable thing happened 
there. Everybody had to go down before 
noon, but we were enjoying the view so 
much that Mr. Oldys kept dropping lire- 
pieces into the guard’s hands. ‘But my 
aunts,’ I cried, suddenly remembering 
them. ‘Sure enough, wait here,’ he said; 
and before I could stop him he was going 
down the ladder and way down the church 
to the entrance where my aunts’ carriage 
was waiting. He got their consent to 
go home without me, and climbed clear 
up into the ball again, just to have another 
quarter hour on top of St. Peter’s.” 


174 


UNCONSCIOUS TUITION 


“And no declaration after that?” 

“Not a hint that we were more than 
fellow-travellers who knew how to see 
things while we had opportunity.” 

“But when did the proposal come?” 

“He was going to Florence, and the night 
before, a delightful moonlit evening, we 
wandered down to the Fountain of Trevi 
to drink together of the waters, a sign that 
we should both return to Rome.- I was 
feeling sad, for never in my life had I known 
such companionship, and though it could 
be no more than that I dreaded to let go 
of it. After we had sipped the water and 
as we stood there he said to me, ‘The Amer-^ 
ican ambassador called on your aunts this 
afternoon.’ I wondered at the unusual 
honor. ‘It must have been while we were 
at St. John Lateran,’ I said. ‘Yes. He 
called at my request. I asked him to tell 


UNCONSCIOUS TUITION 


175 


them what he knew of me and of my family, 
that I might ask them to permit me to beg 
you to be my wife.’ ” 

“So sudden as that?” 

“Exactly in those words. ‘They have 
kindly consented,’ he went on. ‘and now 
I await my answer.’ ‘There will be no 
concealment and no hesitation,’ I replied, 
as formally as he. ‘It is a surprise, but 
it is a delightful surprise.’ ‘Your aunts 
have trusted me so fully,’ he said, ‘that 
I want to give you my first kiss before 
them.’ ” 

“That may be stiff, but it was noble.’’ 

“It was noble, Justine, and from that 
day to this, dearly as we have always 
loved each other, there has always been 
even in his warmest caresses a certain 
punctilious respect and recognized privi- 
lege that few women know, and that I 


176 


UNCONSCIOUS TUITION 


can assure you is worth recognizing.’’ 

“You married .without much delay.” 

“Yes, the moment we became engaged 
life took on a new interest for him. He 
hurried back to look after his plantation 
and get my home ready, and w’e were 
married in June. He jumped right into 
the questions of the day, was elected to 
the state senate, and after two terms be- 
came governor.” 

“And might go now to the United States 
senate.” 

“Yes. But he feels he cannot give up 
his work as governor till the platform on 
which he was elected is carried out in the 
legislature.” 

“How much he has done for Alabama!” 

“Isn’t it a noble old state? And to 
think if I had not met Mr. Marbeck on a 
train to Geneva I should have married 


UNCONSCIOUS TUITION 


177 


Barnaby Cone, and Governor Oldys might 
still have been wanderingly discontentedly 
about Europe. I sent Mr. Marbeck a 
Christmas card this year, wondering if 
he would remember me, but I doubt it.” 

“As Mrs. Governor Oldys?” 

“O no, he knew nothing of that name. 
As Doris Boone.” 

X 

“No, I haven’t a remembrance connected 
with this name,” said Mr. Marbeck, taking 
up the card again. “ ‘Doris Boone.’ I 
must have been just introduced to her 
somewhere.” 
















f 













































































The Trimble twins 




THE TRIMBLE TWINS 


I 

“But you come so late,” said Mr. Apple- 
ton. “Schools open Monday.” 

“The college kept telling us it could place 
us, and only this morning they advised us 
to come to you.” 

“The demand for inexperienced teachers 
of either music or drawing is supplied, so 
far as I know. Now if you could teach 
music and drawing--” 

“But how can anybody teach music and 
drawing?” asked Penelope. “The whole 
make-up is so different. She might be a 
music teacher who knew a little about 
drawing, or a drawing teacher who knew a 
little about music, but she couldn’t have 
( 181 ) 


182 


THE TRIMBLE TWINS 


the gift, the training, the enthusiasm for 
both.” 

“There is much in that,” admitted Mr. 
Appleton, “though we have some pretty- 
fair teachers of both who really are not 
certain which they prefer when they have a 
chance to choose between them. Still, 
they are not artists in either.” 

“That’s just it,” broke in Dorinda. “We 
want to be artist teachers, to teach because 
we love what we teach and want to make 
others love it. I love singing. I love to 
teach little children to sing, but if I taught 
drawing it would be only perfunctory.” 

“And I couldn’t teach singing,” said Pe- 
nelope; “I should have no patience. But I 
should love to give childreh the idea of ex- 
pressing themselves by pictures.” 

“It is a pity Canterbury can’t hire both 
of you,” said Mr. Appleton; “it really 


THE TRIMBLE TWINS 


183 


needs you both, but it has an appropri- 
ation for only a single teacher.” 

“How much?” asked Penelope. 

“Eight hundred dollars.” 

“Good school?” 

“Excellent, on the Hudson, pleasant 
village.” 

“How is board?” 

“Still at old rates, say six dollars, two in 
a room.” 

” We’ll take it, ’’said Penelope decisively. 

“Take what?” 

“The place in music and drawing.” 

“Which of you will take it?” 

“Both of us.” 

“But there[is only one of it.” 

“And there will only be one salary for 
us : we can live on eight hundred dollars a 
year.” 

“You^don’t want to teach for four hun- 


184 THE TRIMBLE TWINS 

dred dollars apiece. I can get you five or 
six hundred before Christmas.” 

“And lose the eight hundred while we 
are waiting. No, Mr. Appleton, we want to 
get to work and show what we can do. We 
are economical; we boarded ourselves 
through college and have seen the time 
when there was only a cup of oat meal 
between us and starvation : and we thrived 
on it. It is worth a hundred dollars apiece 
to us to be together. Give us that Canter- 
bury place and let us get started.” 

In a way it seemed impracticable, but it 
amused Mr. Appleton and when he found 
them in earnest and agreed he saw some 
promising features in the proposal. An 
hour of telephoning and it was agreed they 
should begin at once. 

II 

They proved a success from the start. 
To begin with, they were attractive They 


THE TRIMBLE TWINS 


185 


always dressed alike, and they looked so 
much alike that the principal laughingly 
gave them before the school a pair of little 
gold brooches, one a harp and the other an 
easel, begging them always to wear them so 
as to be distinguished. They had bright, 
merry faces, meeting everybody more than 
half way, liking and expecting to be liked, 
popular in school and out. Dorinda 
seemed an embodied spirit of song. She 
made her little ones love to sing: parents 
were astonished and delighted to hear their 
mites of girls and boys crooning to them- 
selves at home the songs they had learned 
in school. Penelope made her children feel 
that drawing was a way of expressing them- 
selves. “What is that flower I saw this 
morning?” a child would ask, and draw a 
picture which however crude gave her 
mother the distinguishing characteristics. 


186 


THE TRIMBLE TWINS 


The previous teacher, a worn-out woman 
to whom both music and drawing were a 
burden, had inspired a universal dread of 
both, but the Canterbury children longed 
for the appearance of the Trimble twins. 
They had maintained the little joke, still 
saying, “We are the teacher of music and 
drawing.” Before the first term was over 
the board had raised their salaries and 
quite determined never to let them go, now 
that it had discovered what it was to have 
real teachers. 

Ill 

They were inseparable. Outside of class 
work they were one. Their minds ran 
alike. In conversation the lead was as 
likely to be taken up by one as the other. 
Invitations always came to both, and both 
accepted or declined. After a dance each 
was taken back to the side of her sister. 


THE TRIMBLE TWINS 


187 


No young man could accompany either 
home for they always went together, and 
the young man who called on either found 
himself paying equal attention to both. 
The one fear of the board, that either would 
marry, seemed groundless: no young man 
could get any hold upon either. Every- 
body blessed the day the new teacher of 
music and drawing came to Canterbury. 

And yet there was a fly in the ointment. 

IV 

The Trimble twins were the delight and 
the despair of Canterbury. The delight 
because they were so charming and sym- 
pathetic; the despair because they were so 
inconsequent. Whenever by any blunder 
either of them might have done the right 
thing the other saved her from it. 

What makes a blunder ? Lack of sense of 
humor, is the usual answer but the Trimble 


18S 


THE TRIMBLE TWINS 


twins abounded in humor. The trouble 
was they did not develop the background. 
“Don’t talk of halters to a man whose 
father has been hanged,” warned Dr. 
Johnson, but if they were conversing with 
such a man by some perversity they would 
confine the subject to hemp. 

When the English secretary visited the 
school Dorinda welcomed him with the 
Star-spangled banner, which was natural 
enough; but why since only two stanzas 
were sung did she select for the second 
that in which, 

No refuge could save the hireling and 
slave 

From the terror of flight or the gloom 
of the grave. 

When the organist of the Baptist church 
married and went to New York Dorinda 
succeeded her and gave the service a 


THE TRIMBLE TWINS 


189 


new peacefulness, a new sacredness. She 
followed the sermon with an offertory, 
usually original, that often brought tears 
to the young pastor’s eyes as he felt how 
she had comprehended and echoed his 
thought; yet she was continually choosing 
the most inappropriate hymns. The old 
chestnuts were attributed to her, like “See 
the mighty hosts advancing, Satan leading 
on”, when the deacon was heading the pro- 
cession of Sunday school children, and 
“Mistaken souls that dream of heaven”, 
at a wedding, but it needed neither memory 
nor imagination to chronicle her blunders. 

Dorinda had no memory for faces. She 
knew her pupils but forgot their parents. 
“I am so glad to make your acquaintance, 
Mrs. Leach,” she said to one lady who ex- 
pected to be remembered, and who replied 
with fine sarcasm, “You dont’ know what 


190 


THE TRIMBLE TWINS 


a relief it is to hear you say so. That has 
been your remark the last four times we 
were introduced, but I am always fearful 
that next time you will be less anxious.” 

“You don’t seem responsive to Mrs. 
Judge Forbush,” someone said to her 
after she had greeted indifferently the 
most distinguished woman in town, not 
only wife of a justice of the court of ap- 
peals but an author popular in the maga- 
zines. 

“Was that Mrs. Judge Forbush?” she 
asked in self-reproach, and the next time 
she met her was enthusiastic. “I so en- 
joyed your last story in the Century she 
said. “It seemed to me to have the real 
languorous touch of Alabama life.” To 
which the lady said, “I am glad you liked 
the story, but I am Mrs. Bert Oliver.” 

Penelope remembered faces and their 


THE TRIMBLE TWINS 


191 


stories, but was always mixing them up. 
To one lady whose husband she supposed 
to be in the aviation corps she remarked 
playfully, “What a new thing it is for 
wives to be proud that their husbands are 
high-fliers,” only to learn that this woman 
had just secured a divorce from her husband 
on account of his relations with New York 
actresses. 

V 

Penelope had developed a singular skill 
in thumb-nail-sketch portraiture. Orig- 
inally it had begun by showing her little 
people how important it was to keep the 
edges of the mouth up. When a youngster 
was sulky she would draw a face on the 
board with a cross expression, and show 
what a difference it made to turn the frown 
into a smile. Then she would impress that 
in youth the change could be made and the 


192 


THE TRIMBLE TWINS 


habit fixed of either smiling or frowning, 
but that as one grew older the lines became 
fixed and the expression was fastened upon 
one. At first the illustration was only of a 
face, but she grew into the habit of dis- 
cerning what characterized that child’s 
face and so of drawing the face of the child 
she was correcting, till she acquired remark- 
able skill, and in a few strokes of the crayon 
could depict a face that all would recognize. 
Her interpretation was always generous, 
so that children were glad to be pictured, 
and these sketches were a marked feature 
of her school work. 

When Mr. Woodbury, secretary of the 
board, became forty 3^ears old, his wife in- 
vited the teachers to dinner, and Penelope 
prepared one of these sketches of him, 
drawing it at first with crayon and retaining 
the few bold strokes, but copying it in oil 


THE TRIMBLE TWINS 


193 


and putting in some background. She had 
thought nothing of it, bringing it rolled up 
in a newspaper, and expecting it to be 
thrown away after the entertainment, like 
a bouquet. But Mrs. Woodbury was so 
impressed by it that she burst into tears. 
“I did not suppose there was another 
person in the world who knew my husband 
like that,” she sobbed, “his unwearied 
service and yet his underlying fun.” She 
not only kept the portrait but she had it 
handsomely framed and hung in the dining- 
room. “Not because it is you, but because 
it is a wonderful work of art,” she explained 
to her protesting husband. 

VI 

The first time Mr. Tait, the new editor 
of the Canterbury Chronicle, came to 
dinner he was impressed by this portrait. 
“It is wonderful,” he said, “the underlying 


194 


THE TRIMBLE TWINS 


principle of Japanese art at its best.” He 
visited the school and saw illustrations of 
Penelope’s rapid but sure sketching. Just 
then there was a struggle over a new school- 
house. One was needed, the Education 
department had sent warning, condemna- 
tion by the district superintendent was 
threatened, but every proposition had been 
voted down by the workmen in the Ponsard 
process works, a big manufactory that 
employed more than half the men in the 
village. Mr. Ponsard himself spent little 
time in Canterbury. He had become 
wealthy and indifferent, thinking of his 
works here only as a money-producer, 
with instructions to his foreman to keep 
down expenses and especially taxation. 

“Miss Trimble,” Mr. Tait said to 
Penelope, “I believe you can help us to get 
that new schoolhouse.” 


THE TRIMBLE TWINS 


195 


“How?” she asked wonderingly. 

“There is to be a mass meeting Saturday 
night, where we hope to win over some of 
the Ponsard voters. The president of the 
board of education is to make a speech, Mr. 
Woodbury is to make a speech, I am going 
to say something, but you can help more 
than any of us by drawing a portrait of 
Mr. Ponsard on the blackboard. I will 
finish by saying, ‘Miss Trimble will show 
you what stands in the way of our new 
schoolhouse’, and then you draw a portrait 
with the Vanderbilt expression, ‘The public 
be damned’.” 

“If you really think it would help,” 
replied Penelope doubtfully, making a few 
tentative attempts with the crayon. 

“Capital, capital.” cried Mr. Tait en- 
thusiastically, as the well-known features 
leaped out from the dozen strokes. “We 
shall have our new building.” 


196 


THE TRIMBLE TWINS 


VII 

Alas, he had never thought of the Trimble 
genius for blundering. 

The hall was full, the speeches had been 
made as arranged, and Mr. Tait sprang 
his surprise on the audience. “Miss Trimble 
will show you what stands in the way of 
our new schoolhouse,” he said. 

Mr. Woodruff, who loved the Trimble 
twins but had learned to dread their blun- 
ders, was apprehensive, but she came upon 
the platform full of enthusiasm and began 
her work with colored crayon and bold 
strokes. At first there was applause, then 
a deathly silence followed, and attempts 
to stop her. But she was absorbed in her 
picture and her rapid strokes evolved a 
strong portrait. As she gave the last 
touch and turned to show it to the audience 
she found it chilled with apprehension, and 


THE TRIMBLE TWINS 


197 


following the direction of its eyes she 
looked to the door and there was Mr. 
Ponsard himself, who had come in just as 
she had approached the blackboard. 

When she saw him she turned white and 
would have erased the offending figure, 
but he shouted “Stop!” so violently she 
dropped the eraser to the floor. 

“We are done for this time,” whispered 
Mr. Woodbury to his neighbor. “Why 
couldn’t Tait have left' the Trimbles out 
of it?” 

But Mr. Ponsard came forward and ex- 
amined the portrait critically. “In the 
office of our company in New York,” he 
said, “there is a portrait of me by John 
Sargent that the company paid ten thou- 
sand dollars for. It doesn’t look half as 
much like me as this three-minute sketch. 
That is a good piece of work, young woman : 


198 


THE TRIMBLE TWINS 


it does you credit. A school that has 
teachers who can do things like that is a 
good school and deserves to be supported. 
The Ponsard works go on record as in favor 
of the entire appropriation the board asks 
for.” 

The audience rose to its feet and shouted. 
When the tumult had ceased Mr. Ponsard 
went on: “As for this portrait, it is too 
much a work of art to be lost. I want your 
young woman to reproduce it in oil, and I 
will give her a thousand dollars for it.” 

Penelope had listened with wondering 
eyes. “One minute,” she cried: and before 
Mr. Ponsard could interfere she had turned 
half a dozen of the strokes and there was 
the same face transfigured, a philanthropist 
instead of a miser. “And even more like 
him!” shouted the enthusiastic crowd. 
Indeed as Mr. Ponsard looked at his por- 


THE TRIMBLE TWINS 


199 


trait his features turned accordingly, the 
innate but overladen lines of kindness 
showed through, and he was a new man. 

“My dear young woman,” he said to 
Penelope, “you don’t know what you have 
done for me tonight, but you shall find that 
I am grateful.” 

VIII 

So one of the Trimble blunders resulted 
happily. The sisters spent the summer in 
New York while Penelope copied the por- 
trait, and Mr. Ponsard saw to it that every 
opportunity came to them for advance in 
preparation for their work. They are still 
at Canterbury, still unmarried, still happy 
in their work and in each other, still the 
teacher of music and drawing. 




































































































































































A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


















































«* 














































































% 





























% 






























A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


I 

Mr. Stanley was perhaps the most con- 
tented principal in the state of New York. 
He had come to Klopstock fresh from 
college, succeeding a man inefficient and . 
unpopular, he had taken hold from the 
first, he had grown with the village, and 
after twenty years he was better liked than 
ever. He was an optimist, chereful, hope- 
ful, looking for the best and finding it, 
easy perhaps in discipline but so genuinely 
kind that pupils seldom took advantage 
of him. The board entrusted to him all 
the details of school management. He 
arranged his course of study, chose his 
text-books, hired his teachers, even fixed 
( 203 ) 


204 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


their salaries. They adored him, as well 
they might. He selected them carefully. 
First a woman, then a lady, then as much 
more as I can get, he used to say, and he 
had a keen eye to get a great deal more. 
The teachers as a body were ready to do 
everything for the school, everything for 
one another. There was throughout the 
building an atmosphere of busy content- 
ment. It was a happy place. 

II 

On Friday of the first week of the fall 
term Mr. Stanley called a special meeting 
of the board at his office. “A calamity 
has befallen us,” he said. “Miss Roberval 
had a telegram this afternoon that her 
mother was killed and her father seriously 
injured in an automobile accident. She 
must resign and live at home.” 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


205 


“Have you any one in mind for the 
place?” asked the president. 

“Not yet: she told me only a half-hour 
ago. We must have some one here Mon- 
day if possible; she was my right-hand 
man.” 

“Spend tomorrow telephoning, telegraph- 
ing, travelling if necessary,” said the pres- 
ident. “Hefe, I will fill out a duplicate 
contract in blank. I will leave salary 
blank, too. Get somebody even if you 
have to add a hundred or two. We shan’t 
easily find another preceptress like Miss 
Roberval.” 

Ill 

When the two men were gone Mr. Stanley 
sat at his desk, thinking. There were two 
women whom he thought desirable and 
who could probably be had. Miss Popham 
was capable, could handle the subjects, 


206 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


had the personal qualifications, but some- 
how he did not feel an inclination toward 
her; he doubted if she would quite fit into 
the atmosphere of the school. Miss Lanza 
had less experience and more faults, was 
less familiar with the special work; but 
there was a spirit about her he liked: he 
believed she would grow into the place 
better than Miss Popham. He had reached 
for the telephone to call her up when there 
was a knock at the door. “Come in,” 
he said, 

IV 

A woman entered who was so conspic- 
uously a lady that he rose and pushed a 
chair forward. She handed him a hand- 
somely engraved card: 

t /tffcirtpcii'eS (OS&f 

“I have just learned that your precep- 
tress has resigned,” she said, “and I have 
called to apply for the place.” 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


207 


She? Apply for a place in this school? 
It seemed impossible. Her gown, her 
hat, her gloves, her shoes, all the little 
niceties of attire betokened expenditure 
far beyond the salary paid here. “I am 
afraid you do not know the salary is only 
eight hundred dollars,” he said. 

”1 had been told that was the amount,” 
she replied. “It is true I am accustomed 
to receiving more, but there are reasons 
that make me willing to accept that here. 
A small property recently bequeathed to 
me is near here and needs looking after.” 

But Mr. Stanley did not want her. She 
would not fit. She had too much manner. 
Mr. Stanley overflowed with courtesy 
but he deprecated manner. He wanted 
the simple, unobtrusive way of doing 
things. She would disturb the spirit of 
the school. He glanced at her card and 


208 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


smiled inwardly. “She acts her Madge 
Esty,” he thought. 

But she went on: “I am a graduate of 
Vassar, and besides two years as governess 
I have taught five years in the Neplus- 
ultra seminary for girls in Washington. 
I presume you know the school.” 

Yes, he knew of it, a fashionable polishing 
place for daughters of men with more 
money than manners, especially congress- 
men. No, decidedly he did not want this 
woman, even in an emergency. “I am 
obliged to say Miss Roberval’s successor 
has already been chosen,” he replied. 

“Has the bargain been made?” she asked, 
glancing at the blank contract that happen- 
ed to lie open on the table. 

Mr. Stanley was annoyed. In a way 
she was questioning his word. Besides, 
was this not inquisitive in a stranger, a 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


209 


forcing of reasons for rejecting her beyond 
the polite excuse offered? 

“I was just about to telephone her when 
you came in,” he said, rejoiced that at 
least this was true. 

V 

“Then there is still time,” she answered, 
with a little smile of determination. “What 
subjects did Miss Roberval teach?” 

It was wandering from the real question 
and in fact no concern of hers, but Mr. 
Stanley replied, “Ancient and mediaeval 
history, and art-appreciation.” 

“Exactly my own topics,” cried Miss 
Esty. “How did she teach art?” 

“In her history classes she took up 
every day the most famous pictures of the 
period, and on Friday afternoons she 
gave illustrated talks before the entire 
school.” 


210 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


“Just my work at Washington; I did 
not know any public school recognized its 
importance.” 

Mr. Stanley listened with more interest: 
this art-work was his own idea, his principal 
hobby. 

“Do you have the Braun photographs?” 
she continued. 

“Only three of life size, the Sistine ma- 
donna, the Mona Lisa, and the Immac- 
ulate conception.” 

“Which Immaculate conception?” 

“Murillo’s, of course.” 

“Yes, but which? The one in the Salon 
carre?” 

“No, the one in the Louvre.” 

“The Salon carre is a room in the Louvre 
where the masterpieces are grouped. I 
presumed that was the one you meant. 
But at Madrid there are four of Murillo’s 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 211 

Immaculate conceptions hanging side by 
side, and at least one of them is superior 
to that you have. You need a Braun re- 
production of at least that. Are you sure 
the Mona Lisa is a desirable picture for 
children to study?” 

“Why, it is one of the great pictures.” 

“Assuredly, and so are some of Titian’s 
Venuses that you would not want to hang 
in the schoolroom. But Mona Lisa has a 
crafty face : you would not want a daughter 
of yours to grow up with such a relation 
to life.” 

“I never thought of that. Perhaps 
there is something in it.” 

“Where does your Sistine madonna 
hang?” 

“I will show you. Come this way.” 

He was getting ideas from her, learning 
about matters he had thought himself 
master of. 


212 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


VI 

The picture hung upon a side wall of the 
assembly room. “Well mounted,” she 
mused, “the dark brown frame matches 
the picture. It should have a brown wall 
behind it. But, dear me, what surround- 
ings; Boughton’s Pilgrims on one side, 
Benjamin Franklin on the other, and class 
photographs sprinkled all over the wall. 
What can pupils see of the Sistine ma- 
donna?” 

“The madonna was given by one class, 
the Boughton by another, and the Franklin 
by another,” he faltered, as he saw how the 
picture was cheapened. 

VII 

She looked at the Mona Lisa and the 
Immaculate conception, and then asked, 
“How did Miss Roberval teach the other 
pictures?” 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


213 


His eyes brightened. “That is an idea 
of my own,” he said, “by card catalogues. 
We have five hundred strips of cardboard 
nine by twelve, and we encourage the 
children to bring us all reproductions they 
can find of great pictures. They get them 
from magazines, illustrated papers, photo- 
graphs: sometimes they run across real 
engravings, fine ones. We paste these 
each upon its own card, sometimes s'everal 
cards to a picture, and already the collec- 
tion is fairly complete. We have fifteen 
cards for the Sistine madonna alone.” 

“May I see them?” she asked. 

He was delighted to show them, for he 
believed he was the only one to whom it 
had occured to make such a collection. 
She looked them over. 

“When you have such a beautiful and 
adequate picture as that Braun photo- 


214 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


graph, do you think it adds to the child’s 
appreciation to show him such distortions 
as these?” she asked, holding up a big 
daub from the New York Undercut , a 
coarse wood cut from a cheap guide, even 
a parody of Bill Tweed and a partner as 
the two cherubs. 

He began to realize that such conceptions 
vulgarized the child’s appreciation. But 
she went on:‘‘The only possible purpose 
of such coarse representations is to give 
intellectual knowledge of the picture. A 
child who has seen these forty suggestions 
of the Sistine madonna will recognize the 
picture and can name it when it is shown. 
Some people think that is art appreciation. 
But suppose instead you have that Braun 
photograph alone upon a broad wall and 
study it and drink in its beauty and make 
it a part of your life, then you appreciate 
art. Do you remember Browning’s 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


215 


‘but much as we 
Down at the Bath-house love the sea, 
Who breathe its salt and bruise its sands : 
While — do but follow the fishing-gull 
That flaps and floats from wave to cave! 
There’s the sea-lover, fair my friend!’ 
“To appreciate art, to love it, we must 
drink it in directly, not talk about it and 
gather up travesties of it and paste them 
together on card boards.” 

VIII 

Mr. Stanley was humbled. His own 
knowledge of art was intellectual. He 
had never really got to Europe, often as 
he had planned to go, and he had never 
known the great pictures at first-hand. 

She went on. “That is why I would 
teach art only from the Braun photographs, 
so perfect reproductions that they show 
even the texture of the canvas. You 


216 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


cannot instill love of art by talking about 
it. When I first began to study the great 
galleries I spent what seemed a propor- 
tionate part of my time among the early 
pictures from a sense of duty, refreshing 
myself with modern pictures afterward; 
but little by little I discovered that it was 
the old pictures X went back to see over 
and over. In Munich there are two gal- 
leries, the Alte Pinakothek, where the old 
pictures are shown, and the Neue Pinako- 
thek with the latest specimens of German 
art. The first week I was there I went 
faithfully day after day to the Alte, pro- 
mising myself as reward the whole next 
week at the Neue. But after two days 
at the Neue I found myself wandering 
back to the Raphaels and Murillos and 
Rembrandts and Rubenses of the Alte, 
and I discovered that I really enjoyed the 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


217 


old pictures the best. But that was be- 
cause I had seen them and studied them 
and drunk them in and made them a part 
of me. That is what we should do in 
school . B et ter a dozen pictures adequately 
shown and dwelt upon than five hundred 
talked about from caricatures in the news- 
papers.” 

IX 

Mr. Stanley was thinking of more than 
art just then. Here was a superior woman, 
a preceptress that could lift the school to 
a higher level. Personally he did not 
like her. In her cold courtesy she held 
herself so high that one had to look up 
to her, recognizing that he was low. She 
would be a disturbing element in school; 
especially would, she topple over the easy 
precedence he had always maintained. 
For his own comfort he might still better 


218 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


telephone Miss Lanza. But had he any 
right to deprive the school of such an uplift 
so unexpectedly offered? “If you will 
sign this contract,” he said, “I shall be glad 
to have you begin Monday morning.’, 
X 

From the first Miss Esty dominated. 
The superiority she had demonstrated in 
art gave her in Mr. Stanley’s eyes the pre- 
sumption of superiority in other matters, 
and he deferred to her. It had been the 
custom to have two desks on the platform 
of the assembly room, one for the principal 
and one for the preceptress; as children 
came up before and after school and at 
intermissions they consulted the principal 
as to matters of discipline and administra- 
tion, and the preceptress as to their studies. 

One day Miss Esty said to him, “Mr. 
Stanley, the pupils consider you an easy 
mark.” 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


219 


He knew it and laughed. “But they are 
moderate in their defrauding,” he replied. 

“Not so very. You permitted Ava 
Titman to go to his uncle’s to get some 
eggs yesterday afternoon.” 

“Yes.” 

“He didn’t go there: he went to the ball- 
game at Ipswich. I heard him laughing 
about it this morning.” 

Mr. Stanley was annoyed. He was 
aware that boys sometimes lied like that 
but he did not like to be informed of specific 
instances. “Suppose you take charge of 
the absences,” he suggested. 

“I shall be very glad to,” she replied: 
and boys did not lie to her successful y. 
That was perhaps an advantage, but it 
led to turning everything over to her desk. 
Mr. Stanley would sit undisturbed for 
twenty minutes while pupils stood three 


220 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


or four deep to speak to her. Other 
matters that belonged to him were referred 
to her. At first she would send the pupil 
over to him, then she would call across 
and ask him, then she grew to decide it 
herself, until presently it became under- 
stood that it was she who determined 
things. She had assumed the authority 
of principal. 

XI 

Most of the teachers wondered but ac- 
quiesced. Miss Tate wondered and re- 
belled. Her predominant feeling was 
gratitude to Mr. Stanley for what he had 
done for her since as a child she first came . 
to school. Her conception of God in 
heaven was based on her knowledge of 
Mr. Stanley on earth. That this new 
woman should undermine him and rule 
in his place seemed to her monstrous. 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


221 


At first she hoped to prove Miss Esty 
an impostor, but investigation only proved 
that the preceptress was carefully truthful. 
She really had spent two years travelling 
in Europe with the family of a member 
of the president’s cabinet, not only seeing 
what was worth while, but with such socia 
prestige that unusual doors were open to 
them. When the class went to Washing- 
ton Miss Esty had accompanied as chap- 
erone. She not only showed the utmost 
familiarity with the city, but she frequently 
met persons of distinction who recognized 
her with respect. Her knowledge proved 
remarkably accurate as well as extensive. 

One afternoon the teachers were gathered 
for a conference, waiting for the principal, 
when a big rat, fourteen inches from nose 
to tail, came running in. The rest of them 
screamed and some jumped upon seats 


222 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


or even the tops of desks, but Miss Esty 
stepped to the only open door. “Walk 
out one by one,” she said, “and we will 
lock the rat in here and let the janitor 
kill him.” She walked out last, closed 
the door, and notified the janitor, who 
came up with a poker and killed it — evi- 
dently an estray, for anything larger than 
a mouse had never been seen in the building 
before and was never seen afterward. 
“She really is a superior woman,” sighed 
Miss Tate: and hated her. 

XII 

“What are we doing about Red cross 
stamps?” asked Miss Esty of the prin- 
cipal one day. 

“Not a great deal,” he replied. “We 
teachers make up fifty or seventy-five 
dollars among ourselves, and we invite 
children who can conveniently do so to get 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


223 


their friends to purchase, but we don’t 
push the sale.” 

“Isn’t that a mistake? It is a great 
charity. Some schools sell to every pupil, 
and prizes are offered. Our school ought 
not to be down at the foot of the list.” 

“I should be sorry to have every pupil 
in this school feel obliged to buy. There 
are many who have no money themselves 
and whcse parents are struggling to pay 
their grocers bills.” 

“But they can ask their neighbors to 
buy.” 

“I don’t think children should be sent 
out to solicit. I have been a book-agent, 
and I know it is embarrassing work even 
for grown-ups.” 

“Children have not the self-conscious- 
ness of grown-ups; they don’t mind asking 
or being refused, and the people will give 


224 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


to them when they would be deaf to any 
one else. The collection of each one would 
be small, but in the aggregate the sum 
would be large, and it would help a worthy 
cause. I wish you would put the matter 
in my hands this year.” 

And Mr. Stanley, wearied of argument, 
weakly consented. 

XIII 

“Your room isn’t doing much for the 
Red cross, Miss Tate,” Miss Esty re- 
marked. 

“My children have collected all they 
ought to, Miss Esty,” replied Miss Tate 
firmly. “I have bought five dollars worth, 
which is all I can afford, and some of these 
children have brought ten cents that I 
know their parents could not spare.” 

“All children who have not brought 
anything for the Red cross stand up,” 
said Miss Esty to the school. 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


225 


Miss Tate waved them with her hand 
to keep their seats. “Excuse me,” she 
said; “no other teacher has a right to give 
orders to my children.” 

“But I am preceptress of this school.” 

“And I am teacher of this room, and I 
will stand between my children and 
cruelty.” 

“It is not cruelty to ask a simple ques- 
tion.” 

“It is when the question implies and is 
meant to imply humiliation.” 

“I am put in charge of Red cross work 
by Mr. Stanley.” 

“You are not put in charge of this room 
by Mr. Stanley or by any one else, and I 
shall be glad to have you retire from it.” 

“Very well ; this is your last day of teach- 
ing in this school.” 


226 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


XIV 

After the children had gone that after- 
noon Miss- Esty moved her chair over to 
Mr. Stanley’s desk. He instinctively 
shrank from the interview. That approach 
meant another of Mrs. Caudle’s lectures- 

“Air. Stanley,’’ she began, “Miss Tate 
will have to be dismissed.” 

“Miss Tate?” he asked, unable to be- 
lieve his ears. Even Miss Esty’s sagacity 
failed to grasp what his tone implied. 

“Yes,” she said. “She was impudent 
to me this afternoon.” 

She expected his usual compliance, and 
was surprised to note in his voice a positive 
opposition. “I am not quite sure that 
word impudence applies among teachers,” 
he said. “A pupil may be impudent to 
a teacher or any inferior to one in authority 
over him, but there can hardly be impu- 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


227 


dence in the remark of one teacher to an- 
other. It may be rude, but not impudent.” 

“But I am preceptress,” she said. 

“That is not a distinction of rank, like 
lieutenant, captain, major. The pre- 
ceptress has no authority not delegated 
to her.” 

Danger-signals were plentiful now in 
tone as well as words, in straightening up 
in the chair, in aggressive look of the eyes, 
but Miss Esty was too accustomed to 
dominate to be deflected. 

“Perhaps you can judge for yourself: 
she ordered me out of her room.” 

“How did you happen to be there?” 

“On Red cross business, which you 
entrusted to me.” 

“And you gave orders to her?” 

“I asked those who had not contributed 


to stand up.” 


228 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


“And she would not permit it? Good 
for her. If she had I should have given her 
the severest reproof she has ever received.” 

“But Mr. Stanley—” 

“There is no argument about that. Any 
method of collecting for a charity that 
involves compulsion and humiliation is 
an outrage, and shall never be used in my 
school with my consent.” 

XV 

Was this the subservient Mr. Stanley 
talking? His eyes fashed and he was 
evidently too obstinate to be persuaded. 
So she turned to a flank attack. “But 
even if she ought not to have permitted 
it, she should not have been rude to me 
before her class. If a pupil should not be 
humiliated, should a teacher be?” 

“It seems to have been a crisis, demand- 
ing immediate action. If I see that your 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


229 


gown has caught fire I don’t stop to ask 
permission to put it out.” 

“But she commanded me before her 
class to leave her room.” 

“In her manner and language she may 
have been hasty, but I am sure she will 
be willing to apologize.” 

“An apology will not atone. A teacher 
capable of such language, even to an equal 
as you insist I am, should not be allowed 
to remain in school. If you do not dismiss 
her I shall appeal to the board of educa- 
tion.” 

XVI 

Miss Esty had acquired great influence 
over the board as well as over the school: 
she might make trouble. 

'“Miss Esty,” he said. “I am going 
to tell you something about Miss Tate.” 

Miss Esty leaned back resignedly. She 


230 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


prided herself that she was always a lady. 

“I first saw Miss Tate when her teacher 
sent word for me to come down to the 
primary room, where she had a child she 
could do nothing with.” 

Miss Esty nodded her head as if to say, 
“I should think very likely.” 

“She was seven years old and had been 
brought there by the truant officer, having 
hitherto eluded observation. She was 
wild with terror and anger. It took me 
some time and some agility to catch her, 
and when I lifted her into my arms she 
fought me like an angry cat ; I really came 
near losing an eye. For a week I spent 
considerable of my time in that room, and 
when she was finally convinced that we 
were her friends and there was much of 
interest and profit in school, I looked into 
her history. 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


231 


“She was the daughter of a dissolute 
chambermaid at the hotel. Probably 
even her mother did not know who her 
father was. Within a year the mother 
died; the child was brought up by her 
grandmother, a well-meaning woman but 
weak; the child would very likely have 
followed in its mother’s footsteps had not 
some of us in school been able to throw 
other influences about her. The grand- 
mother kept in a loose way a small grocery 
store. When she was taken ill I looked 
after the store, putting in a man I could 
trust, advancing money to pay notes and 
bills and keep up the stock, so that when 
the grandmother died I sold the business 
for enough to give the girl a normal school 
education, after which I took her into 
school as a teacher.” 

“It is interesting to know that Miss Tate 


232 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


is the illegitimate daughter of a prostitute,” 
said Miss Esty icily, “ and shows from 
what sources you recruit your teachers: 
but it gives all the more reason for dis- 
charging her.” 

“Do you think so, Miss Esty? Dis- 
charge for her would be ruin. Think how 
she started life in with everything against 
her, heritage, tendencies, inclinations, 
for she had has a great deal to overcome. 
She is very quick-tempered, and if she 
only told you to leave the room it shows 
how she has gained mastery of herself: 
the first year she taught she would have 
assisted you.” 

“Pretty creature to have in school,” 
injected Miss Esty. 

“She is a brand saved from the burning, 
a girl with infinite possibilities for harm 
who has yet become perhaps our very 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


233 


best teacher, knowing every one of her 
pupils in school and out, devoted to them, 
loved by them, their friend long after 
they have gone from her room, a power 
for good in the homes of some of what 
but for her would be the most degraded 
tenements in town. 

“Now let us assume that she spoke to 
you too vigorously, even impolitely. I 
will answer that she makes suitable apology 
— for her heat, not for her action, which 
I approve — and suppose we let the matter 
drop right here. With you it is a question 
of dignity: with her it is a question of 
life. Do not show r yourself ready to destroy 
a soul because she was angered in defence 
of her children.” 

“Are you quite finished?” asked Miss 
Esty. “Because if you are I repeat that 
as you refuse to discharge Miss Tate I 
shall appeal to the board to do so; and 


234 


A SUPERIOR WOMAN 


incidentally I shall point out that a woman 
of her origin has no place in a public school. 
I will guarantee that she will be dismissed.” 

XVII 

But it did not work that way. There 
was nothing new to the board in the story 
of Milly Tate’s early life except the un- 
sympathetic way in which Miss Esty told 
it, every member knew what an influence 
for good Miss Tate exerted in the com- 
munity, and every one had been more or 
less annoyed by the aggressive way in 
which pupils had been compelled to sell 
Red cross stamps; so it was moved and 
carried unanimously that as Miss Esty 
had closed by saying that there was not 
room for her and Miss Tate in the same 
school and as Miss Tate was considered 
indispensable, the place of preceptress 
be declared vacant. 













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